


Of Berries and Birds

by Blunette (Hoshikuzu_san)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Draco, Badass Draco, Boys Kissing, Canon Divergence, Complete, Draco pov, Draco secretly loves Harry's sunhat, Drarry, M/M, slight gore, third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshikuzu_san/pseuds/Blunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco switches sides during the war. He gets locked in the Manor's cellar, where he finds Harry Potter, whom he decides is going to help him escape.</p><p>Or, Shit Happens; The Life of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Pansy, Pans, what did you do?” Draco whispered. He could barely see her through the tears in his eyes, but he could feel her. The blood matched the color of her lips. It stained her white blouse, drenched her hair.

Draco knelt down, nearly slipping on the slick marble floor but catching himself at the last second. He fumbled around her body, lifting her head to check her pulse.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Draco couldn't breathe. 

Pansy. Pansy. Pansy. 

_ Why? _

He felt something.

It was too slow. She wouldn't make it to St. Mungo’s. Was he even allowed to take her there? What would He do? Draco couldn't be punished, not again. Not if he didn't want to end up like Pansy.

Draco was hyperventilating. He couldn't see, tears were blurring his vision, panic clouding his brain.

A small part of Draco, the part that reminded him to study for school tests even in the midst of war, the part that forced him to keep smiling even when he couldn’t breathe, for his mother’s sake, for his friends. 

The part that was now telling him to calm down. He was wasting precious time. Pansy was dying. 

Swiftly tearing his robe, Draco tied the strips around her wounds, tight enough to stop the circulation, apply pressure, and slow the bleeding.

“ _ Accio _ blood replenishing potion!” he yelled, voice shrill. He listened to the sharp  _ crack!  _ of the glass as it slammed into various marble pillars and walls on its journey before zipping into his sweaty, waiting palm. 

“ _ Rennervate _ ,” he hissed, and Pansy’s eyes snapped open.

She promptly screamed.

“No, hush, Pans, shh,” he crooned, hating himself for not bothering with a bloody numbing spell beforehand. He quickly cast one, then forced her to drink the potion. She kept choking and gurgling, and he was forced to sit her more upright, jarring her legs, and she choked and gurgled some more. “Dammit, Pansy, drink the sodding—yes, just like that, swallow—yes, yes-”

“What,” Pansy croaked, jaw a loose mess due to the numbness spreading through her. “How...?”

“I found you here, like this. I need to go.” He swallowed. “I need to find a spell to heal you up, I'll be right back.”

Pansy, eyes widening in horror, attempted to clutch at him, but her numb body wouldn't cooperate. She began to panic, her pulse picking up, her breaths shallowing.

“Pansy, hush, I'll be right back-”

“Don’t leave me here,” she whispered, face white with terror. “He might be waiting for me-”

“He's out right now, Pans, He won't be back for another few hours. He took the other Death Eaters and-”

“He didn't want me to leave,” Pansy whimpered, tears finally falling. “He heard me t-talking to Mum and He didn’t want me to leave, Draco, He-”

Forcing her hands off him, he fled to the Library, ignoring her terrified cries, her pleas to not be left alone.

“I’m losing time,” he told himself, convincing himself. There was no time for coddling or doubts. “This is to save her. I'll comfort her later.”

That, and a dark part of him couldn't help feeling that the Dark Lord had already chopped off her legs, she was useless to Him dead  _ or  _ alive.

Served her right for being so bloody stupid.

As if there was any other life for them than this.

As if they made a difference. As if they mattered.

Draco sprinted to the library, pumping his legs, ignoring his protesting lungs and arriving in record time. He  _ Accio _ ’d all books revolving around Healing broken legs, then revised his search to books on post-amputation. He grabbed one with the spell he knew he needed and sprinted back down the stairs. 

He risked a shortcut and leapt over the railing, flying to the floor with a single leap and dashing to the foyer where Pansy still lay, unmoving. Draco didn't bother waking her, or checking her pulse. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

Draco removed the cloth tied on her stumps, flinching when rivulets of blood poured onto the floor from the gaping wounds.

Pansy’s body spasmed, and he set to work.

He cast a spell to taper her blood veins and then used the most powerful sticking charm he could muster to force the wound closed. He tied the hanging pieces of mangled flesh back over her wound, using the thin strips of bloody skin to assist in his next spell, which was to reform the skin around her knee. 

Draco was already panting from exhaustion alone. It had been a time since he truly stressed his magic reserves, and he was using dark, powerful spells, but fuck, shit, the wound was reopening, and he was so bloody  _ close,  _ and if he could just  _ reform the skin _ —yes, yes, just like that, yes—shite, it’s tearing again, why is it tearing again—too much magic—slow and steady—I’m running out of time—I’ll leave her with scars—She’ll hate them—I’m trying to save her damned life-

Damned life, indeed.

Draco finally forced the wounds closed, sweat pouring down his face in sheets. He could scarcely breathe, his magic was so low.

He tried to cast a spell to lessen the scarring. He lifted his wand, hand shaking, and pointed, blinking hard to clear his vision.  _ He couldn’t see,  _ and the spell failed. He tried again, relying on his memory of Pansy’s body because he didn’t have any other choice, and felt the spell connect.

Pansy moaned weakly, and Draco choked on a dry sob. What was he doing, trying to lessen bloody  _ scarring?  _ She was missing her damn  _ legs _ !

“A-accio  _ skele-gro _ ,” he demanded, and with a few more clangs and the sound of a vase shattering somewhere in the distance, a new potion smacked into Draco’s hand. 

“ _ Renervate, _ ” he cast again. Pansy didn’t react, and Draco grit his teeth. “ _ Rennervate, dammit _ ,” he snarled, and Pansy’s eyes snapped open. 

Her mouth followed suit, preparing to let loose another howl, but Draco swiftly cut her off by pouring the little bit of potion left in the bottle down her unsuspecting throat. She choked and flailed and coughed violently, vomiting, but Draco kept pouring because he wasn’t sure he would be able to re-lift his arm if he stopped. He was so exhausted, depleted, and more of it got on her clothes than in her mouth, but soon she was swallowing and downed her four tablespoons greedily.

Draco dropped the empty vial, paying no mind as it shattered across the floor, mixing with the blood and vomit. He lifted his wand one last time, numbing Pansy again, and then the darkness at the corners of his vision was moving in, invading, and he was willing to let it succeed.

He couldn’t  _ see _ .

* * *

“Speak,” the Dark Lord hissed.

Draco stared at his temples in favor of his eyes, swallowing thickly.

“I was not successful in fixing the Vanishing Cabinet,” he whispered.

He could feel the Dark Lord’s magic, thick and imposing, settling over him with promise.

“Speak up, boy. I mustn’t have heard you correctly.”

Draco glanced feebly to his mother from beneath his fringe, and even with her stoic facade, Draco could see the moisture to her eyes.

“I was not successful in fixing the Vanishing Cabinet,” Draco repeated, a little louder.

“Try again,” the Dark Lord replied gravely. “Something that I want to hear, this time.”

Draco knew he was shaking, knew his sweaty palms would begin to drip if he didn't unclench his fists, knew his teeth would crack if he didn't unhinge his jaw, but he didn't dare.

“You had  _ one job _ ,” the Dark Lord growled, lip twitching upward in a sneer. “ _ One _ . Find a way to get my Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It was so  _ easy _ , so  _ simple _ , yet you cannot do even  _ that _ !” He roared, and Draco screamed when the  _ cruciatus _ hit him. 

Doom. Doom. Doom. 

_ Pain _ .

“You Malfoys are utterly  _ useless _ . The wizarding world would benefit from losing one of you...” The Dark Lord’s lips were peeled back in a maniacal grin, and Draco couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't  _ see _ .

But he could faintly hear his mother's voice beyond his own screeching. Draco heard a dark laugh from Him, and then the curse was dropped.

Draco fell to the floor in a trembling mess, and for a moment, felt relief.

Then his mother screamed, and Draco’s head snapped up just in time to see her fall.

“How noble,” the Dark Lord mocked, amusement in his voice. “One failure sacrificing itself for another. As if it makes a  _ difference  _ who dies.”

Draco vomited over the floor, convulsing violently, and he felt shame when he heard the spectating Death Eaters laugh.  _ Laugh _ . The disgust with them and with  _ himself _ mixed unappealingly with his potent, horrified sorrow. His  _ mother _ -

He felt rough hands grabbing at him, and when Draco caught a glimpse of the perfectly trimmed nails, he sagged into his father’s arms.

“Get up,” Lucius hissed, “Move. We shan't stay here,” he snapped, and Draco couldn't agree more, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the Dark Lord, who laughed and laughed and laughed, sipping his scarlet wine and stroking his serpent. As if none of them  _ mattered _ .

Above his acute feeling of loss, anger rose.

Draco was often scared for his life, for his friends, for his family. Depressed, distressed, regretful.

But he so rarely had the courage to feel angry, and at that moment, when the Dark Lord spared him an offhanded glance as his father tugged him dutifully from the room, and Draco couldn’t resist glowering just as the ballroom doors slammed shut behind them.

The Dark Lord hadn't even looked surprised. Bored, if not faintly amused.

Draco didn't make a difference. Draco didn't matter.

Lucius dragged them into the nearest vacant room before releasing his son. He looked at Draco, who stared back at him, before lifting his hands and looking at them.

They were covered in blood. His wife’s blood, from when he leapt forward to catch her as she fell.

She'd been dressed in white, descending like a dove. And then she hit the ground, and she was dressed in red, and so were his father’s hands, and his face, because Lucius was clutching his head as he dropped to his knees.

He began to cry, silently, and Draco had never seen his father cry. The stony expression fell away, then his tense shoulders, and then his tears. 

It was like watching something beautiful decay, degrading right before your eyes. His father was breaking down. 

Broken _. _

Like his Mother.

Draco had never been misguided into believing he and his family would have front row seats for the Dark Lord’s reign—for the Purebloods to prosper as everyone else, everyone inferior, was either killed or wishing for so. He didn't even want that, really. He just wanted to please his parents, to follow along with his friends. 

He hadn't been misguided into believing he was doing the right thing, either. That Death Eaters were out and about for the Greater Good, or some such rot. But as long as his friends and family stood by him, as long as he had them...

His friends were either in hiding, too damaged to be of any use, or dead. 

His mother was Dead. 

His father was filled with regret and fear and was to  _ weak _ to do a damn thing about it. 

Draco was scared, and had no doubt in his mind he wouldn't live to see twenty, but at that moment, he was also  _ angry _ .

He didn't believe in Pansy’s nonsense of freedom, of forgiveness, of there being a Good Side and a Bad Side and a clear distinction between them. 

But he did know which one opposed Voldemort.

* * *

“Tell us, Draco,” Lucius demanded, and ever since Mother, that tinge of disbelieving hysteria hadn't left his eyes. “Tell us if he's Potter.”

Draco stared blankly at his father. He couldn't even find it in himself to be disgusted, to be pitying or hateful towards the man. 

He still loved his father.

“Draco,” Lucius repeated, “Speak.”

The other Death Eaters holding the wounded figure eyed him expectantly, excitement rolling off them in waves. They wanted him to say  _ yes _ , they wanted to please their Lord.

Draco finally looked at the abused figure, who stared back at him defiantly through his muddy fringe.

Draco looked at the teen’s hands, and knew it was Potter.

“It's not him,” he said, and the room grew deathly silent.

“Take another look,” Bellatrix insisted, jostling Potter and making him cry out. “We were sure-”

“I’ve perfect eyesight  _ and  _ memory,” Draco sneered. “I think I would recognize Harry bloody  _ Potter  _ when I saw him.”

The other Death Eaters hissed and raged, but Draco stared at Lucius, who stared back at him with a carefully blank expression.

Draco looked away from those suddenly aware, calculating eyes, and left the room.

It wasn't long until they found out he had lied, thrown Potter in a cell, and dragged Draco down there with him.

Draco wondered if it had been his father who gave him away.

They were in separate cells, directly next to each other, and Draco could barely see Potter’s slumped form in the darkness, but he could hear his steady breathing. Potter was still wounded, but his breaths didn't sound erratic at the moment, so Draco wasn't overly concerned. Not that he had his wand, anyway, but perhaps he would have resorted to drastic measures if his only way out of Voldemort’s clutches was dying a mere few meters from him.

“Potter,” Draco called out, and the steady breathing quieted to nonexistence, which was uncomfortable, but Draco wouldn't show it affected him. “Why did you come alone?” he asked.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Draco couldn't see him clearly. 

No response, no heavy breaths.

But then he heard the sound of distant chains scraping against the concrete floor. 

Approaching.

“Why didn't you tell them it was me?” Potter asked, and his voice was barely a whisper.

“I didn't know,” Draco said.

“Don't  _ lie  _ to me,” Potter hissed, and his voice was dark.

Draco smiled wryly into the darkness.

“I didn't want them to lock you up,” he said.

Potter didn't respond for a few minutes, supposedly digesting this comment.

He seemed to have decided it was truthful enough, because he then asked, “Why?”

“I need you alive,” Draco breathed, and it felt somewhat exhilarating to admit that out loud. “He needs to be removed, and if you're the only one who can do that, then so be it.”

Potter made a noise like a growl. “And why would  _ I  _ do anything for  _ you _ ?”

“Not  _ you _ , Potter,” Draco sneered, “your  _ side _ . I need them to succeed. Voldemort can't.” And it felt exhilarating to finally say that name as well. “You're just one man, Potter. Just a boy. We are mere children. I don't expect  _ you  _ to do  _ anything _ for me. We don't  _ matter _ , we don't make a  _ difference _ by ourselves. What I need is your group,” Draco insisted, feeling breathless and like he was close to bursting at the same time. When was the last time he had spoken to someone? Spoken to someone, and spoken the truth?

Not since Mother.

“Not that you’re worthless,” Draco said after a pregnant pause, wondering if he’d offended the other boy. “Even if you weren’t  _ you _ , realize that  _ anyone’s  _ organs are very expensive on the black market. Your bone marrow alone is worth around five million galleons.”

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Potter asked.

“Oh, good. I thought I had offended you.”

Supposedly ignoring that little comment, Potter continued with, “What made you change your mind?” and he sounded boyishly, childishly, merely curious. As though he weren't trapped in the cellars of Draco’s ancestral home, chained to the wall, and unlikely to see the light of day for some time to come.

Careless.

Confident?

Draco liked the thought of that. He hoped Potter had a plan, because while Draco had a last resort, he would prefer it remained just that. Not only would breaking his hands be painful, but timely, and though Draco wasn't sure the exact deadline, he was perfectly aware he and Potter were on a time limit. If he had to resort to plan Z at the last second, he wasn't sure he would be able to pull it off. He'd never actively tried to shatter the bones in his hands, but he guessed that, between smashing them against walls and crushing them beneath conveniently placed cinder blocks, it would take at least a few hot minutes.

“Mother was killed,” Draco said, and heard Potter’s intake of breath.

“I'm sorry,” Potter said immediately.

“So am I,” Draco said. “If I hadn't been such bloody coward, she wouldn't have had to sacrifice herself for me.”

“Sacrifice?” Potter asked, voice strained. “God, Malfoy, I'm so sorry-”

“If I had just completed my tasks-”

“Tasks?” Potter echoed.

“Fix the vanishing cabinet, let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, kill Dumbledore, kidnap-”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Potter spat. “You were-”

“I didn't,” Draco said. “That's why I'm down here.”

“And you didn't, because of your mother,” Potter said.

“I was too cowardly to add the final touch to the vanishing cabinet,” Draco admitted.

Understanding dawned on Potter’s face. “The bathroom-”

Draco smiled darkly. “Yes, when you sliced me open-”

“I didn’t  _ know _ -”

Draco ignored him. “But the rest of the tasks, I didn't complete because I didn't  _ want  _ to. I'm not trying to tell you I'm a decent human being or anything,” Draco assured with disgust at the mere concept, “but just. I love my mother,” he said, and his voice was quiet.

Potter remained quiet as well.

* * *

“Your dinner,” Lucius sneered, levitating a platter of mashed potatoes, salmon, and green beans. Draco eyed the plate solemnly. Such common food. Dry, pale, and cold.

Draco could remember five course meals, and that one Yule when the festivities weren't willing to cease and they devoured fourteen courses. He remembered fine wines, savory meats, and only the freshest of ingredients. He remembered the plethora of silverware, a new set for each meal, and his mother teaching him which ones to use and when.

Draco was snapped from his thoughts when he heard the cellar door shut ominously, and then peered into the next cell when he heard the shatter of a plate and the following sound of food being smeared across the opposite wall.

Draco sighed.

“Potter, it's been three days,” Draco said.

Potter didn't reply, and Draco could just make out his neighbor curling into a ball.

“If you don't eat soon, you’ll starve,” Draco pointed out. “But, I’ll concede, they may be trying to poison you. But realize, it's more likely the Dark Lord will want to have the pleasure of killing you himself, rather than something as common as food poisoning.”

Potter remained silent, and Draco could see him faintly rocking back and forth.

“And if there were faint traces of something merely meant to weaken you, then I'm sorry to say, starving yourself is weakening you anyway. I've been eating, haven't I? And I'm perfectly fine. Of course, I'm chained to a wall in a musty cellar without any other company than my childhood nemesis and the creatures from my nightmares presenting themselves in the shadows engulfing me, but other than that, I'm perfectly okay.”

Potter began muttering to himself, but otherwise, didn't respond. At least, not to Draco. The voices in his head, perhaps.

“So, yes, maybe they are poisoning you, but definitely not me,” Draco said, and he didn't understand why he was talking so much. He craved interaction.  _ Sunlight _ . Water. 

His basic needs were reduced to those of a bloody plant.

He wanted human touch. Conversation. Banter. A reaction. Ever since their first conversation, Potter hadn't spoken to him at all, despite Draco’s repetitive calls. That, and Draco was beginning to suspect that Potter didn't have a plan of escape.

Draco had decided Potter’s friends had abandoned him, which was why Potter had initially been so eager to hear Draco’s reasoning for conversation. He felt betrayed, and had been, so he was weary of Draco’s sudden interest.

Draco had begun working on plan Z after realizing this, and had hyperventilated a bit when he realized there were  _ cushioning  _ charms on his cuffs so they wouldn't hurt his wrists should he get violent, and Salazar, wasn't that  _ thoughtful _ ? So  _ kind  _ of them? 

But that had been two days ago, and instead of being disheartened by the shards of glass he'd discovered in the food Aunt Bella had delivered to him yesterday—his father hadn't resorted to such uncouth tactics of punishment as of yet—, he'd carefully hidden one in his mouth when she came to collect his plate later. He currently had it tightly clutched in the hands chained behind his back. 

He would use it soon, but there was no way Potter would be able to manage an escape with him if he was starving to death.

“So I'm thinking,” Draco licked his lips nervously, “why don't I give you some of mine?”

Potter abruptly stopped all motion.

“How?” Potter rasped, and Draco listened to him rattling his chains.

“I can scoot over to the bars,” Draco said, “I could pass you some green beans from between my teeth.”

“Green beans,” Potter repeated, voice faint, though Draco suspected it was more from incredulity than wonder.

“From between my teeth,” Draco repeated, “that way, we won't have to touch mouths, and I don't have to lick the food. And, you know, you won't die of starvation.”

Potter didn't respond for a while, and Draco grew impatient.

“Come on, Potter. You don't have to eat much, and I'm sure you've survived longer on less than some bean pods, but I need you  _ relatively  _ able to assist me when I decide the time is right to escape.”

Potter’s chains rattled a bit, quietly, before they grew louder, and Draco could see Potter crouching just beyond the bars of his cell.

“Fine,” he said, and Draco carefully slid the plate over as he scooted closer to the bars separating them.

Potter looked like a wild animal, up close.

An animal in a cage.

“Ready?” Draco asked. “I'm sorry for the strangeness, Potter, I really am, but when we get out of here, we can pretend this never happened, yeah?”

Potter nodded, still silent, and Draco decided that was enough.

He bent down and bit some of the vegetables between his teeth before turning towards the bars. He leaned forward, awkward and unsure, but Potter showed no outward hesitation before leaning in and taking them. 

Their lips did brush, very lightly and briefly, but neither reacted. This was necessity.

Draco ended up sharing half of the dry salmon as well, and though he offered the rest of it—and didn't bother offering to share the mashed potatoes—, Potter refused to accept more than half.

With a shrug, Draco began scooting back towards the center of his cage, but was startled into a stop by Potter’s shaky blurt of, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet, Potter,” Draco murmured, “I haven't gotten us out yet.”

Potter didn't say anything, but by the way he hunkered down into a ball once more, his opinion was obvious.

_ And you never will. _

“I have a plan,” Draco insisted haughtily. 

Potter still didn't reply, but Draco noticed he remained curled up against the bars, closer to Draco’s cell.

* * *

“Dammit,” Draco cursed as soon as Jugson left.

“What?” Potter asked. After their first ‘meal together’, they had taken to sharing every time. Potter had also spoken to him more.

Not about the War, or his friends, but the little things. His favorite kind if weather (winter), his favorite sport (Quidditch), his favorite dessert (Treacle Tart), his love of gardening, his discomfort in small, tight spaces, his desire for a dog in the future, his secret love of bird watching, his insomnia.

And Draco had opened up as well. His favorite kind of weather (summer), his favorite sport (Quidditch), his favorite dessert (Red Velvet  _ anything _ ), his love of clockmaking, his fear of spiders, his desire to take dragon-care training in the future, his adeptness at healing charms, spells, and potions, his homosexuality.

“How did you know?” Potter had asked after that particular admission.

“On a purely sexual level, I don't find much appeal in the female body,” Draco said simply. “Romantically, however, I would never refuse to accept the person I love, even if they were a woman.”

“That's...” Potter trailed off.

“Difficult for some to understand,” Draco said, “but not anyone else’s concern, really. If I get turned on by blokes, then so be it. You can't please everyone.”

“But what if you have to?” Potter had asked.

“You  _ can't _ ,” Draco repeated. “Potter, you could be the juiciest, tastiest, most attractive damn peach on the planet, but you know what? There will always be those people who don't like peaches. And that's alright. Because the people who mind don't matter, and the people who matter won't mind.”

And Potter had made a strangled sound that Draco rather thought sounded like a startled laugh.

But that had been days ago, today-

“What?” Potter repeated. “Why’d you say, ‘dammit’?”

“Jugson brought bloody soup again,” Draco muttered. 

“That's fine,” Potter sighed.

Draco blinked into the darkness, surprised. “Is it?” he asked.

“I'm hungry,” Potter said, and Draco nodded even though the other likely couldn’t see it. 

Jugson had a particular dislike for Potter, so whenever it was his turn to deliver their dinners, he somehow ‘forgot’ to bring Potter any. And Jugson had served yesterday as well.

“I'm  _ very  _ hungry, actually,” Potter admitted. “So, if you're willing to suffer through it, yes, I'd love a bit of soup.”

Draco swallowed, nervous. “I don't want to cross any lines-”

Potter laughed, and it sounded strained. “Honestly, Malfoy, at this point, if I had to kiss  _ anyone  _ to get some soup, it would probably be you. I know you won't make it any weirder than it has to be.”

Draco shut his eyes. Where was Potter when he said he was gay? The twat probably thought that, just because they weren't best friends or anything of the sort, Draco didn't find him attractive.

“Fine, fine,” he snapped, carefully scooting himself and the bowl closer to Potter’s cell. Once close enough, he nervously leaned down, prepared to suck up a mouthful, but his nerves got the best of him. “How are we going to do this, exactly?” he stalled. “Shall I simply... open my mouth, and let it pour in? Like a mother bird feeding her baby?”

“That's... disturbing imagery, but maybe?” Potter shrugged. “I’ve never done this before,” he said, as though Draco needed the disclaimer. “We’ll wing it?”

Draco sighed. “If that was a pun, it was a poor one, but appreciated nonetheless.”

Potter snorted.

With another sign, Draco leaned down and sipped some of the cold liquid into his mouth before sitting up once more and leaning towards Potter.

Their lips touched, and Draco felt warmth grow in his stomach. Ignoring it dutifully, he parted his lips after Potter did, and jumped when a hot tongue reached into his mouth to spoon some into the other.

They parted, and Draco swallowed the remaining broth in his mouth. 

They stared at each other, then averted their eyes. 

Potter jerked his head towards Draco’s bowl. “Just a few more,” he said, “please.”

“Well, if you say  _ please _ ,” he mumbled, ignoring Potter’s scoff and leaning towards the soup to draw some more into his mouth. When Draco returned, Potter was on him quickly, parting his lips and impatiently plunging his tongue down Draco throat. 

Draco leaned back quickly, and could hear Potter’s swallow.

“Thanks for this, Malfoy,” Potter said awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” Draco implored sarcastically, and he knew Potter smiled. He sucked some more soup into his mouth, and they continued like this a few more times. 

Potter swallowed, and when they parted, Draco noticed some soup trailing down Potter’s chin. He leaned in and lapped at it, just because he could, and this time when he leaned back, Potter was staring at him.

“Sorry?” Draco asked. They had already crossed all sorts of lines, and this one felt somewhat mild. He could still taste Potter’s salty skin on his tongue, and rather felt he didn’t regret it.

Potter shrugged again, and even in the darkness, it looked forced. “Once more?” he asked, and Draco was nodding without thinking about it.

Draco leaned down to gather some soup into his mouth for the last time, and then his lips met Potter’s, and his mouth was being invaded.

He could feel Potter swallow against him, but this time when he tried to lean back, he could feel desperate hands grabbing at his shirt, yanking him back against the bars, and then his mouth was being ravaged.

“Fuck,” Draco panted, and when the eager pressure returned, he could feel the pleased curve to Potter’s lips.

They kissed, and Potter was grabbing at his shoulders and face and whatever he could reach through the bars. Draco wanted to touch him back, to reciprocate the desperate groping, but his hands were still chained.

What the hell?

“Potter,” he tried, but said teen was insistent, swallowing all his words with ease. Draco wanted to melt into him, because he’d been craving human touch, affection, stimulation for  _ so long _ , but couldn’t because he was  _ still bloody chained _ .

“Harry,” he tried, going for a demanding tone, but Potter just moaned and nipped at his swollen lips, pressing against the bars as if hoping to squeeze through them.

Draco turned his head, using all of the little self control he had left. Potter licked along his cheek and nibbled at his jaw, and Draco leaned into it, but his mouth was no longer occupied.

“Potter,” he said, slowly, “why aren’t your hands chained?”

Potter’s kisses slowed to a stop, but his lips remained silently pressed against Draco’s fluttering pulse.

“Harry,” Draco tried again.

Po-Harry leaned back with a sheepish sort of grimace. “Accidental magic?” he asked. “I’ve done it once before,” he admitted.

Draco stared at him, mind racing.

“You randy bastard,” he whispered, awed, “you just used wandless magic!”

“Accidental-”

“Is the same sodding thing, you pillock. But nevermind that, this is perfect! Merlin, I could kiss you right now, but we’ve already done that so let’s skip to the part where we decide today is The Day, yeah?”

Draco was practically vibrating with excitement, exhilaration rolling off him in waves. 

Today. Today they would escape.

“What?” Harry asked, recoiling slightly. “How?”

“If you can magic off my cuffs-”

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered, “I can’t control it, I can’t-”

Draco shook his head violently, slightly crazed grin overtaking his features, because this was  _ okay _ , he could work with this.

“That’s fine,” he assured, “I have another plan-”

“Wh-”

“Hush,” Draco cooed, “I have everything under control, Harry, but I need you to do something for me, okay? I need you to play dead for me, Harry, I need you to play dead until they’re close enough, and then I need you to attack them.”

“Them-  _ Who _ ?” Harry asked.

“Whoever comes to check up on us,” Draco said.

“Why would they-”

“Because I’m going to scream, and they’re going to come and check it out,” Draco explained in a rush. “I’ll say you haven’t moved for days, and they’ll have to go in and check on you if a  _ rennervate  _ doesn’t work. Then, you’ll strike, and take their keys, and open up my cell, and we’ll take their wand, and I’ll lead us out of the Manor, and we’ll break for the treeline.”

“I- You-  _ What _ ?” Potter repeated, eyes wide. 

“Come  _ on _ , Potter,” Draco urged, “I can’t do this without you.”

Harry, still staring at him incredulously, began to slowly shake his head. “No, Malfoy, there are  _ way  _ too many ways your plan could go wrong. You’re going to get one of us  _ killed. _ ”

“I’d rather be dead than continue this,” Draco whispered, and his eyes darted around as though paranoid someone else would overhear such an admission. “As much as I enjoy your company, Potter, I’d much rather enjoy your company  _ without  _ the cages, the omnipresent darkness, the shackles—you know. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m willing to risk my life for that. I guess I just thought you would, too.”

Draco’s eyes burned into him, and Potter wavered.

“Of course I’d be willing to risk my life for freedom, Mal-um,  _ Draco _ ,” he said carefully, “but have you thought this through? Do you have a backup plan?”

“Of course,” Draco sniffed haughtily, “I always have a backup plan. I’m a rather talented escape artist, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, well-”

They both shut their mouths with an audible snap when they heard the sound of keys rustling.

“What now?” Potter whispered anxiously.

“That’s probably Jugson coming to collect my bowl,” Draco replied, biting at his lower lip in an attempt to stifle his grin. He noticed Potter staring at him, bewildered. Draco rolled his eyes. “You worry too much, Potter. I promise. I have everything under control.”

“Malfoy,” Harry growled, “please, just this once, keep your promise, okay?”

Draco winked at him, and when the door opened, they scooted away from each other. By the time Jugson reached the last step and peered into their cells, Potter was face down in the cement, unmoving, and Draco was rocking back and forth, muttering to himself, and clutching the shard of glass behind his back.

“What on earth?” Jugson muttered to himself, and when he made a move to step closer, Draco threw his head back and screamed.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Potter jump, obviously startled, but Draco assured himself Jugson was too busy trying to shut him up to have noticed.

“Malfoy, shut the hell up!” Jugson demanded. “What’s gotten into you?”

“The voices,” Draco rasped, tugging at his hair and shaking his head, “they’re too loud-”

“Oh, Salazar, not  _ now _ ,” Jugson hissed. “You can’t go crazy  _ now _ -”

“And Potter’s voice isn’t among them,” Draco whispered, and Jugson paused.

“Potter? What about him-”

“Hasn’t spoken in days,” Draco said gravely. Then, he giggled, and it was a musical sound that came off more than slightly deranged when it echoed off the walls. “Now it’s just me and the  _ voices _ ,” he sang.

Jugson Stiffened. “What? No, Potter can’t be dead yet,  _ shite _ , today is  _ not  _ my day.” As the Death Eater yanked out his keys and hastily threw open Potter’s door, approaching carelessly, ignorantly, Draco continued giggling, and when Potter leapt with the accuracy of a predator, snarling and kicking and tearing, Draco’s laugh became more of a bellow, because this was  _ perfect _ .

He stopped laughing when he heard a second set of footsteps tearing down the stairs, because no, that  _ was not  _ good, and Potter was too distracted with Jugson, and there was no way he could take on two Death Eaters simultaneously.

Draco cursed to himself as he gripped the glass in his hand and  _ cut _ , and if he screamed and distracted Aunt Bella, no one had enough time to react because then Potter was releasing a battle cry of his own and attacking her with Jugson’s wand as said wizard was unconscious, bleeding, on the floor.

Draco’s scream died down to a whimper when he’d finished cutting, and then he couldn’t hold the glass anymore and it fell to the ground with a silent clatter, drowned out by Potter’s yell of, “ _ Stupefy! _ ”

Potter was panting, shaking, and turned to Draco. He unlocked the door with a silent spell, and made a move towards Draco as if to unlock his handcuffs, but then a spell was shot down the stairs, and Potter fell.

Draco watched him fall silently, descending like a crow with a screech of terror and rage, and when he hit the ground, Draco slipped his blood-slickened hands through the cuffs and approached. Once out of the cells, he felt his magic pulse freely, and swiftly  _ accio _ ’d both their wands and a  _ skele-gro  _ potion.

They flew in swiftly, and while the wands easily dodged the baffled Death Eater slowly coming down the stairs, the newly-filled potion slammed right into him, making him tumble, and by the time he, too, hit the ground, he was perfectly unconscious.

Draco stared at the four unconscious beings on the cellar floor,  _ his  _ cellar floor, and felt it was some sort of poetic justice.

Then he heard the commotion going on upstairs, downed what he estimated was a tablespoon of skele-gro, and dropped the bottle carelessly. He then used the wand in his left hand to stop his own bleeding and  _ rennervate  _ Potter, ignored the thrill that went through him when he realized he’d used Potter’s wand itself and it responded to him eagerly, then hefted the slowly waking Gryffindor up.

“Come on, Potter, we need to move quickly,” he hissed, letting the other boy lean heavily on him as they ascended the stairs,  _ finally _ .

When they reached the top, Potter was more alert, and Draco was duly impressed when they came face-to-face with another Death Eater, and Potter took less than a second to react and  _ stupefy  _ him.

“Gee whiz,” Draco breathed, eyebrows raised, and Potter spared him a cocky smirk before they began making their way towards a side exit. “Over here,” Draco whispered, turning down a long, narrow hallway before abruptly tucking into a corner as a group of Death Eaters ran past them. Potter’s  _ Notice-Me-Not _ charms would only do so much good when the entire Manor was on high-alert.

Then they were running again, and when Draco saw the portrait he was looking for, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mother,” he called, and the elegant woman turned to him, surprised.

She looked just as beautiful as the photo they based her portrait off of. Said photo had been taken before the start of the War, so her portrait was without the perpetual darkness beneath her eyes, the limpness to her hair, the hollowness to her cheeks. In her portrait, the only thing commemorating her death, she was just the beautiful woman Draco remembered her as.

“My dragon,” Narcissa breathed, her eyes watering at the sight of him, “my sweet baby, what has happened to you?”

Draco smiled at her sadly, and if his eyes watered, Potter had the decency not to mention it.

“I can’t talk right now,” Draco admitted, “Potter and I need a way out of the manor.”

Narcissa eyed Potter, and at his similar state, her narrowed eyes softened. “You boys must realize, your journey will not be easy.”

“Things worth fighting for usually aren’t,” Draco said, and when she looked as though she were about to cry, Draco laid a dirty hand gently against the canvas of her portrait. “I love you, Mum,” he whispered, and at the informal title, the tears began to fall down her porcelain face.

She looked at Potter, and wiped delicately at her eyes. “Take care of him,” she said.

Potter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked from Narcissa to Draco, and nodded determinedly.

Draco forced a smile. “I will, Mother. Merlin knows, this one needs me.”

Narcissa smiled shakily back, and then her portrait swung forward to reveal a passageway out of the Manor.

Potter went in first, and when Draco went to follow, he stopped at the sound of footsteps. Turning back, Draco froze when he saw his father.

Lucius stared at him, opened his mouth to undoubtedly announce their departure to the other searching Death Eaters, then seemed to realize exactly which portrait was allowing them to escape.

He shut his mouth silently, and Draco’s tears began to fall. He nodded to his father, but Lucius merely clenched his jaw and turned, striding silently from the hallway.

“Come on,” Potter said gently, tugging at Draco’s wrist. He had likely missed the entire exchange between Draco and his father, but the blond didn’t feel the need to tell him, so he merely followed.

When they exited the manor, they did dash for the treeline, and only after another hour of running and ducking and throwing hasty looks over their paranoid shoulders did they come to an exhausted stop.

“We can,” Draco panted, gasped, clutched at his trembling knees, “we can apparate from here.”

Wordlessly, Potter grabbed his hand and Side-Alonged him.

They landed in a confused heap on a wooden floor.

“Where-?” Draco began.

“Grimmauld Place,” Potter muttered, rolling off Draco with a pained groan and plopping on the floor next to him. They both took in the ceiling silently, save for their laboured breathing.

And then, “We made it,” Draco said. Then, he was smiling, and laughing exhaustedly. “What did I tell you, Potter? I always have a plan B.”

Potter turned to regard him, and Draco met his stare. Draco couldn’t resist grinning at the way Potter’s cheek, squashed against the hardwood floor, made one of his eyes crinkle behind his smudged, cracked glasses.

“How did you get out of your handcuffs?” Potter asked, frowning. “I was hit, and then suddenly you were waking me up.”

Draco lifted his hands, showing off his regrowing thumbs. He wiggled the stubs. “I had to cut them off so I could fit them through the shackles-”

Potter turned around and vomited, his entire body shaking, and Draco couldn’t help laughing again.

It had been a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco woke on the floor, right where they had fallen asleep, to yellow sunlight pouring in through the nearby window. 

After the escape, he hadn’t had the time nor energy to stop and smell the roses, but now, as he lay next to a dosing Harry Potter on the uncomfortably hard, flat floor, he had both those things. So he did.

He admired the rays shining in, and when he lifted his hand, disrupting the sunbeams, he could feel the warmth lapping at his skin.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, because he wanted to show him.

Harry shifted, sighed, and rolled closer to Draco. His head was at Draco’s chest hight, because his body was curled slightly.

“Mm?” he mumbled more than asked.

“I can see sunlight,” Draco said simply.

Harry peeked at him from beneath his fringe, and Draco had never quite noticed how green his eyes were in the dark. Now, they looked clear, and bright, and Harry had the slightest rim if light brown around his pupils, which looked golden in the morning light.

“Are you tired?” Draco asked.

Harry shut his eyes and sighed. “I can’t sleep when it’s so bright, anyway,” he said, and his voice was quiet to match the silence of the early hours.

Draco, feeling peculiarly playful, lifted his shirt, leaned forward, and pulled it over Harry’s head. Harry struggled, surprised, but he was laughing. Draco tugged him closer, petting Harry’s head through the fabric and crooning mockingly. 

“Used to the cellars, Harry-kins? Don't worry, darling, Draco-dear will protect you from the harsh UV rays.”

Harry cursed at him and shoved him away, and when he escaped the confines of Draco’s shirt, his hair was mussed, his glasses askew, and his lips stretched in a wide grin. 

“I’m hungry,” Draco decided, though he hadn’t the slightest idea how early it was, and even less of an idea how long it had been since he last ate.

“I think there might be some cereal in the cupboard,” Harry said. “But I’m not sure. I haven’t been here in a while.”

With a nod, Draco rolled away from Harry and stood. 

Harry was still on his back, watching Draco from the floor with an open expression.

Draco, watching him back, stepped over him and pressed a foot lightly to Harry’s chest, where he felt the other’s heart fluttering. 

Harry placed his hands on Draco’s foot, keeping it there.

“In the cellars,” Harry murmured, eyes searching Draco’s openly, trustingly. “Your mother sacrificed herself for you because she loved you.”

“And I love her.”

“My mother did the same,” Harry said softly. “Her love stopped Voldemort from killing me, that night.”

Draco, of course, knew this, to a degree. There were stories, after all. Legends, really. But to hear Harry telling him with his own mouth, was... empowering. Reassuring. Trusting.

Draco smiled, and when he wiggled his toes against Harry’s chest, Harry smiled back.

“Ready?” Draco asked, moving his foot and holding out a hand.

Harry took it dauntlessly, and Draco pulled him up easily. Together, they trekked towards the kitchen.

Draco opened the fridge with a frown.

“Why is the fridge fully stocked?”

Harry, who had his head shoved all the way in a cupboard—supposedly looking for said cereal—quickly turned to face him, then bumped his head on the upper shelf and scowled.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, rubbing his head.

“Why is the fridge full?” Draco asked, motioning towards the cooling-charmed cupboard. 

Harry frowned. “I suppose one of the other Order members went shopping.” He shrugged uncaringly.

“Order members?” Draco parroted nervously.

Harry turned back to the cupboard and reached inside, pressing his face against the opening and grimacing as he attempted to reach further into the recesses of the wooden contraption, grumbling to himself as he did so.

“Yeah. Order of the Phoenix. Opposing Voldemort, remember? Hermione, Ron and me-”

“And I,” Draco corrected unthinkingly.

“And I,” Harry conceded with a roll of his eyes, “were hunting for horcruxes when we got separated. They, obviously, escaped, while I was captured.”

“Horcruxes?” Draco echoed faintly, blood draining from his face. “Where are Granger and the Weasel, now?”

“Probably out with the others, searching for me.”

“And you don’t think it would be kind to tell them you’ve arrived back to safety?” Draco asked, voice strained with incredulity. “Without their help, might I add?”

Harry sighed and retracted his hand from the cupboard. “Yeah... yeah, okay, I’ll owl someone or something.” Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced around the kitchen tiredly. He saw a banana and promptly picked it up.

“Isn’t eating fruits basically the same thing as eating tree children?” he asked.

Draco stared at him in wonder. A newly woken Potter was a sight to behold.

“Technically,” Draco said, as it seemed Harry was actually awaiting a response. “we’d be eating their ovaries.”

Harry nodded, didn’t ask for further explanation, and left the room.

Draco stared after him, baffled, then turned back to the fridge.

* * *

The other members of the Order arrived within the day.

It had taken hours alone for them to hear Harry out in the midst of their threats and accusations, but when they did listen to him, it was to witness him sticking up for Draco valiantly, explaining how Malfoy had risked his life for him. It took them even longer to believe it wasn't because Draco had some sort of secret agenda, but merely because the blond honestly held no particular ill will towards them. Just Voldemort.

“I’m not suddenly saintly,” Draco had assured them. “I don’t even want to be here, if I’m honest. But, in order to reach my goal—one you all just happen to share—, it would be wise for me to hide out here.”

And though they were hesitant, and skeptical, Potter had put his foot down, and they’d been forced to oblige.

But then.

“Well, how much are we going to tell him?”

Draco, after being unwillingly accepted into their group, had wisely fled the room. That didn't mean he wasn't in the mood to do anything risky—Draco had only run out of sight, not out of earshot. If he had to eavesdrop to get the information he wanted, so be it.

“Everything.” Draco could recognize Harry’s stubborn voice anywhere.

“We can't,” another member hissed, “we can't trust him with-”

“I trusted him with my life,” Harry cut in.

“And now?”

“What?”

“Do you still trust him? Now that you're out of immediate danger, now that he doesn't need you alive. He doesn't know about the prophecy, Harry—he doesn't know that he needs you specifically in order to vanquish Voldemort. Would you still trust him with your life? Trust him not to abandon you if a better option comes along?”

Harry was quiet for several seconds, and Draco thought it was indecision. He didn't know how that made him feel.

Relieved, because he most certainly  _ would _ abandon Potter if there was a better way to defeat the Dark Lord, to avenge his mother. 

Betrayed, because there was a slight chance he might stay with Harry, regardless.

Scared, because the chance was more than slight, and when had Harry become a friend? When had he become someone Draco would sacrifice his own safety for?

But then Harry replied, and his voice was a quiet kind of threatening, and Draco realized Harry had been disgusted by the question, not tempted.

“He cut off his thumbs,” Harry murmured, and when all whispers in the room hushed at the admission, he continued. “He encouraged wandless magic out of me. It was my job to unlock his shackles, but I wasn't there in time, and he cut off his bloody thumbs so he could  _ rescue _ me. He could have bypassed me entirely, just made for the door and fled, but he didn't.”

“Well maybe-”

“I was scared to eat the food they delivered to me, scared it was poisoned, and Malfoy passed me food from between his teeth so I wouldn't starve.”

“That's probably because-”

“I told him I had insomnia, and he changed his sleeping schedule to frequent naps instead of a long slumber every night so he could keep me company, keep me from the nightmares. Does that sound like someone only concerned for my physical health?”

“Well, why-”

“Draco told me he knew a plethora of healing spells because he was the designated Healer of his friend group. They’re so used to being slashed and scarred that they need a  _ designated Healer _ , for Christ’s sake. And yeah, Malfoys on principle are evil, but it  _ only  _ took Draco’s mother  _ sacrificing  _ herself for him, for him to realize he was on the wrong side.”

The room remained silent.

“We tell him everything,” Potter repeated, “because he's one of us now. And even if a better option for him does come along, I would want him to take it. Implore him to, actually, because he's doing what's best for his family—what's best for his friends. I would expect the same from you all. I would rather save my close friends than lose them for the whole world, but I don't have a choice in it, now do I? Draco does.”

Draco felt his chest expanding, straining to burst with affection. It was surprising, because as much as he and Harry were reluctant partners, he didn't particularly like the Golden Boy.

Or, he hadn't, but now he was filling with  _ something _ , something affectionate, and it made sense.

When was the last time someone had stood up for him? Surrounded by people who held the opposite opinion, no less?

It had been a long, long time.

Draco quietly crept back to his temporary room.

* * *

Draco started at the sound of his door creaking open. He had his wand drawn and at the ready within a second.

“Draco?”

Draco relaxed at the familiar voice.

“What are you doing?” the blond replied, not bothering to whisper. 

Harry jumped at bit at the unnecessary volume.

“Still having those headaches?” Draco asked.

“I couldn't sleep,” Harry admitted, quietly shutting the door behind him. He easily maneuvered through the room despite the utter darkness, and Draco wondered how long he had been awake for his eyes to have adjusted so well. He didn't wonder long, however, distracted by Harry clumsily climbing into bed with him.

“And you think crowding me is going to help you sleep?” Draco asked, but he quieted his voice and scooted over to make room.

“I'm used to your breathing,” Harry admitted, whispering still, and it was all that was required because his mouth was a mere foot from Draco’s ear.

“I won't stay up all night to talk to you,” Draco said, because that's what he had done in the cells. “I might wake up, anyway, because my body is still used to that, but I'm going to try to sleep.”

“That's okay,” Harry said, “if I can hear your breathing, that's okay.”

Draco didn't reply to that, merely shutting his eyes.

Minutes later, Harry shuffled closer to him.

“What are you doing?” Draco mumbled, half asleep already. Merlin, he was exhausted.

“It's not echo-ey in here,” Harry explained, “I can't hear you all the way over there.”

“What do you mean, ‘all the way over there?’ You're practically on top of me.”

“Am not,” Harry denied.

“Go to sleep,” Draco demanded, shutting his eyes once more.

Minutes later, Harry was shifting restlessly, and Draco was having none of it.

“Here,” he snapped, cupping Harry’s head with one hand and guiding it to his chest.

Harry wordlessly allowed it. He didn't question, didn't hesitate.

“Can you hear my heart?” Draco asked.

Harry pressed his head more firmly to Draco’s chest.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice soft, awed.

“Focus on my heartbeat, on my breathing.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered.

As Draco fell asleep, his breathing evened out, his heartbeat slowed.

Harry, soon, followed suit.

* * *

“Well, then let’s just bring Draco.”

“Harry,” Granger warned, glancing at the blond briefly.

Draco calmly examined his nails. Even though he had showered the night prior before climbing into bed, he had showered again that morning. Just because he could. And his nails, after being cut and filed as well, were positively  _ gleaming _ .

“I don’t trust him,” Weasley murmured, slanting Draco a look. “He’s still Malfoy, mate.”

“He saved my life.”

“We know,” Granger said gently, “but-”

“No, I don’t think you do know,” Harry interrupted. “I honestly thought I would stay stuck there for weeks. Months, even. But Draco reminded me every sodding day that he ‘had a plan,’ that, ‘if anything, I’m a coward, and cowards know how to run away. It’s the only thing we’re good at.’ I had already given up on being rescued, but you know what? He’s the one who kept his promise.”

Granger jerked back as if stung.

“Harry,” Weasley said, obviously hurt. 

“I know you guys tried, and you know I love you two more than anyone else, but I would appreciate it if you would trust me on this. Just because you two weren’t there to witness it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. That doesn’t make his actions any less valid. If I had a pensieve, I would-”

“You don’t need a pensieve, Harry,” Granger cut in softly. “You’re right, we shouldn’t doubt you. The war changes everyone.”

“Even gits like Malfoy,” Weasley muttered, then jumped when Granger kicked him beneath the table. Draco saw the motion easily from his peripheral vision, because he hadn’t been invited to join them at the table, and refused to ask or show any indication that he wanted to be invited.

“But,” Granger continued, “perhaps you should give us time to get used to Malfoy before we entrust your life to him.”

Harry scowled. “Why are you just assuming he’ll need to save my life? I’ll have everything under control.”

“You’re right,” Granger agreed hastily, which only seemed to anger Harry further. “But let’s wait a few weeks before we go hunting for the next hor-”

“Weeks?” Harry interrupted incredulously. “We don’t  _ have  _ weeks-”

“Would you like me to take an oath?” Draco drawled, and three pairs of eyes snapped to him.

“An oath?” Harry asked.

“A wizarding oath,” Granger said.

“A blood oath,” Draco corrected.

Weasley scowled. “We don’t need your dark magic, thanks.”

“What would you have me do to prove myself, then?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t particularly care whether you or Granger trust me, but if this is holding back the progression of the mission, then it needs to be dealt with.”

“And why would  _ you  _ even  _ care  _ about the mission?” Weasley sneered. “You and your family-”

“Imagine you’re given a task,” Draco said, and he was smiling pleasantly. The attractive, sweet kind of smile he had never shown the Golden Trio. The kind of smile that would catch them off guard. “Imagine you’re given a task, and it sounds simple enough. Create a door. What comes  _ through  _ the door is dangerous, but you’re not bringing the danger in, just making the door.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Weasley cut in, “you’re still aiding something bad.”

Draco smiled wider, and it twisted into something ugly. “Yes, yes. So, what do you do, Weasley? Finish the door, or don’t?”

Weasley looked nervous. “Don’t, of course.”

“Ah,” Draco said, “but then someone has to die.”

“What?”

“If you had created the door, thousands might have died,” Draco assured. “By not creating it, you saved them, and you only have to sacrifice one in their stead. Who do you sacrifice?”

“Myself,” Weasley said immediately. “I would never put that onto someone else-”

“But what if that choice is taken away from you.”

Weasley faltered again. “What?”

“What if, when the time came, the decision was taken from you? You were prepared to atone for your sins, for your family’s sins, for the sins of all who contributed to your destiny leading up to this very moment, this decision, this future—But then, your mother intercepts the spell. And it’s fine, because someone died, so it’s fine, but it’s your  _ mother _ , sacrificing herself for  _ you _ , for something  _ you  _ did.”

Weasley gulped, pale.

“You could have just made the door,” Draco whispered, his grin peeling back from his teeth into something akin to snarl. “People could have died—could have. You never know. You could have made the door, then warned someone. Everyone could have been saved. By not completing the door, death was assured. You just thought it would be yourself. You thought sacrificing yourself would be the noblest option, but no, Weasley, it’s just the easiest option. After all, it’s much harder to live than it is to die, isn’t it, Weasley? Your mother knows that, now, doesn’t she, Weasley?”

Draco’s grin dropped.

“Oh, wait. Your mother is fine. It’s mine who died. I apologize, you could never  _ understand _ , Weasley. The way she  _ screamed _ , Weasley. I was bloody  _ ready _ ,” Draco growled. “Do you think I  _ want  _ to be here? I was  _ ready _ . But now I have a job to do. He cannot be forgiven, don’t you  _ see _ , Weasley? Don’t you  _ understand _ , Weasley? He cannot be forgiven, for he has sinned. He didn’t mean to, but he still took a life, the life of an innocent, someone pure, someone  _ worthy of saving _ .”

Weasley frowned. “Voldemort’s killed thousands.”

“He’s not talking about Voldemort, Ron,” Granger whispered.

Draco stood and stalked from the room.

* * *

**** Harry walked up to Draco and sat down, just casually. As though he hadn’t spent the last few hours tracking him, as though Draco hadn’t spent just as long evading him.

“You okay?” he asked. Just casually.

“Fine.”

Harry hummed. “Okay.” Then, “Now, like you mean it. Are you okay?”

Draco sighed. “Yes. I’m... mildly askew, but I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay,” Harry said. Simply. Casually. “We’re hunting for horcruxes in two days. You’re coming.”

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward, then landed them on Harry, who was staring at him challengingly from the corner of his eye.

“Will that be a problem?”

“Of course not,” Draco drawled. “I’ll just roll on my back as well, shall I?”

Harry frowned. “What? What does that even mean?”

“How about you try asking, instead of telling me.”

“Will you... be joining us?” he asked slowly, politely, and Draco smiled, which, of course, egged Harry on. “By the rise of the second sun from this beauteous day, we will march forth into the jaws—the deep, dark, depths of danger. If you would be so kind as to grace us with your presence, I would be most pleased.”

Draco raised his nose, his smile wide. “Much better. Now, if  _ you  _ would be so kind as to rub my aching feet, while you’re at it.”

“I’ll just roll on my back as well, shall I?” Harry echoed.

Draco stared at him. “If you’d like,” he said, a lascivious smile sliding on his face.

Potter flushed through his scowl. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“Don’t say things you don’t know the meaning of, Potter. You just might find yourself in trouble.”

* * *

To think Draco had—only briefly, realize—thought tromping through the forest with Potter and Co. would be fun, was such a foreign and abstract concept to him now that he decided, right then, right there, that the thought had never actually crossed his mind. Yes, he’d known from the start that it would absolutely, positively dreadful.

Draco wrinkled his nose as he took notice of the mud clinging to his shoes. He’d had enough forethought to borrow a pair of Harry’s trainers—not that he had asked, but he knew Harry wouldn’t actually mind. He had so many, after all, and Draco would clean and, if need be, mend them before returning them. He just didn’t want to seem needy by asking. They were somewhat friends, yeah? Friends didn't ask friends to borrow their seventeenth pair of sneakers.

“What’s the name of his forest, again?” Draco asked.

“The Dark Forest,” Granger supplied, her voice strained with fatigue. How many hours had it been?

“And we discovered it from some ancient books in the back of the Black library,” Draco said, nodding as he remembered. “Why was that, again? Unless we’re desperate enough to assume Voldemort is simply hiding parts of his soul in random places, now.”

“He’s insane,” Weasley grumbled, “wouldn’t it make  _ more  _ sense for him to hide them in random places?”

“He’s insane, but not unfeeling,” Draco said. “He would hide them in places that he felt emotionally attached to, wouldn’t he?”

“Of course,” Granger agreed, voice a tad snappy, “but we’re running low on ideas at the moment, Malfoy, and Voldemort is running low on emotional attachments.”

“That’s not true,” Draco said, just to be difficult. He didn’t even know why he liked to ruffle their feathers so much. It wasn’t even very fun without his friends to laugh with him at their expenses. It was simply familiar. “He’s emotional about many things.”

Weasley slanted him a look. “Care to share, Malfoy?”

“Ron,” Harry warned, just as exhausted as the rest of them.

“No, it’s fine,” Draco said pleasantly. “Once, after he’d crucio’d me so much I wet myself and began shaking and crying and—just a real mess, really. Well, he’d looked at me then. I think he thought I reminded him of himself,” Draco admitted.

Harry nearly tripped while the other two whipped around to stare at him. 

“Horrifying, I know, but...” Draco frowned. “He just sort of. Cocked his head at me. Asked me what was wrong.”

“What was wrong?” Weasley asked, incredulous. “After he just-”

“He knew I wasn’t crying because of the curse,” Draco said, voice purposefully even. Emotionless. “He asked me if I was scared.”

“And?” Granger asked, her voice quiet.

“I nodded,” Draco said. “He told me he knew what it was like, having to live up to your name. He... He touched me.” At their warping expressions, he hastened to add, “Not perversely, but... He pet my hair. My Dark Mark. He told me I should care more about myself. Make my own name, or something like that.”

“Why.” Harry said, didn't ask, and his face was just as blank as Draco’s. “Why would he say that.”

“He told me power comes from one’s self,” Draco said. “Friends, family. It all just holds you back. He said I didn’t need my family, that I’d be stronger by myself. He said he made his own name.” Draco paused, and then snorted. “And that the T is silent.”

Weasley frowned. “Voldemor...?”

Draco nodded. 

“How precious,” Harry smiled darkly, “we’ve been pronouncing his name wrong. The name that strikes fear into the hearts of so many.”

“A name is a powerful thing,” Draco said.

“I know,” Harry said, glancing at Draco. “I know, Draco.”

“Harry,” Draco agreed.

Weasley squinted at them. “What?”

Granger rolled her eyes.

And they kept walking.

“Do you figure it’s around here, somewhere?” Weasley asked for the umpteenth time.

Harry shook his head. “I would feel it.”

“And they give off that eery feeling,” Granger added. “We would all know, really.”

“Maybe we should split up, then,” Draco offered.

The trio turned to regard him, two of them suspicious, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“To cover more ground? At this point, you three can go Horcrux hunting alone. Team-bonding and trust be damned, this is a waste of precious time I could be otherwise utilizing more efficiently. For example; sleeping. Shitting. Slitting my wrists. Literally anything other than this slow torture.”

Granger frowned. “You shouldn't joke about self-harm.”

“Who said I was joking.”

“Draco,” Harry warned.

“I've cut myself up enough,” Draco agreed grudgingly. “But my point stands. We can set a meeting point or something for a certain time, that way, if I do decide to give into my impending insanity and butcher one of you, you'll know eventually because we won't show up to the meeting spot on time. Then you can return to the Order headquarters and call for backup to collect the body, or whatever it is you're fantasizing about.”

“ _ Fantasizing _ -” Weasley began, affronted, but Granger, ever the mediator, cut him off with a sharp nod.

“Okay. That sounds... yeah, okay.” She looked to Harry, making sure he understood she was making an active effort not to suspect Draco at every turn. “We're traveling in groups of two?”

Weasley immediately slid up to Granger, and she huffed, but if was affectionate.

Draco turned to Harry, who smiled at him a little. “Guess it's you and me, partner.”

Draco felt a little thrill at that, but just nodded. 

When the group came to the next split in the trail, they separated.

They walked in silence for half an hour or so, and then Draco noticed Harry sending him furtive looks every few seconds.

“Admit it, Potter,” Draco announced suddenly, voice sounding loud in the previous silence, and Harry started a bit in surprise. “You just wanted to partner with me so you'd get me alone to have your wicked way with me.”

“My  _ what _ ?” Harry sputtered, face absolutely red. “And you're the one who wanted to split up!”

Draco shook his head, smirking. “Tell yourself what you will. To me, however, maybe tell me what you've been sneaking peeks at me for?” He was tempted to add, ‘my arse is a little lower,’ but didn't want to tease too much, lest Harry get offended.

Harry deflated a bit. “It's just. You can be a little nicer to them, you know? You're nice to me, why can't you extend that to them? They're my friends. I trust them.”

Draco considered this for all of about five seconds.

“They're not mine,” Draco said simply. “If I could save only one out of the three of you, I would choose you.” He looked at Harry significantly, who stared back. “If I could save either the two of them, or only you, I would still choose you.”

“Draco-”

“You said something similar before, didn't you? ‘I would rather save my close friends than lose them for the whole world,’” Draco echoed.

Harry flushed. “You heard that?” Then, a little more indignantly, “You were  _ eavesdropping _ ?”

Draco shrugged. “That doesn't matter. What matters is that I feel the same. First and foremost, I want to protect the people precious to me. You, tragically, have become one of those people. But,” Draco continued, looking away, “if I could save everyone, I would. They're not enemies, just not my friends. I don't particularly feel anything for them. Except that Weasley is an idiot, but that doesn't warrant his demise.”

Harry stared after him for a few moments before jogging to catch up. “I think we're all idiots, sometimes.”

“Everyone has the right to be stupid,” Draco explained exasperatedly, “but Weasley abuses that right shamelessly. He must be a brilliant man, beneath all the blundering buffoon, for you and Granger to be so fixated with him. I acknowledge I simply can't see it, not that it isn't there.”

Harry looked at him, surprised, and then a slow smile made its way on his face. “He is.”

Draco didn't respond, because he didn't feel he needed to, and then they lapsed into silence.

But Harry was staring at him again.

“What is it, this time?” Draco asked patiently, not bothering to even slant Harry a glance.

“Earlier, you said you want to protect people precious to you. I'm precious to you?”

“Important,” Draco amended. “Precious makes it sound more intimate than it is. I simply don't abhor you as much as I often let on.”

“You're using big words again, so I'm making you uncomfortable,” Harry decided, and Draco nearly tripped.

“I am  _ not _ ,” he denied testily. “Abhor isn't even a big word, you twit, it simply transcends your finite vocabulary.”

“There you go again.” Harry smirked at him, and it looked absolutely Slytherin. “Admit it, you find me  _ precious _ , not just less abhorrent than you originally thought.”

“I will admit to no such thing,” Draco quipped.

Harry laughed, shaking his head, which was when it happened.

It was all so fast, so unexpected, that when Draco saw it, Harry was already screaming, and when Draco had drawn his wand, Harry was gone. 

Draco shot the blood-sucking bugbear with an simple hex, and the hazy creature shrieked a ghostly wail and scuttled off.

Draco whipped around, searching for Harry amongst the trees. He saw neither head nor tail of his friend, and began to grow increasingly worried. 

Bugbears were related to boggarts, yes, but they weren’t overly dangerous. Draco had thought the creature was merely frightened by Harry’s noises, not combative, but both were now missing, and  _ fuck _ , how could he not have been paying attention? Even more so, how could Harry not have defended himself? Draco knew first-hand how talented Potter was with a wand.

“Um, Draco?”

Draco stiffened, and then, with a creeping feeling of dread, lightly walked towards the sound of the voice.

Yep. There was Harry.

In a hole.

Draco sighed. “Did you fall in?”

Harry scowled up at him from the bottom. “I did not  _ fall in _ , I was pushed!”

Draco sighed again. “Whatever. Hurry and levitate yourself out.”

Potter smiled at him sheepishly.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, a little below his furrowed eyebrows. “What is it now?”

Potter’s smile turned into a grimace as he reached beneath himself and pulled out his wand—his snapped wand.

“You fell on your wand,” Draco montononed.

“I was  _ pushed  _ into a _ hole _ on my wand!”

Draco sighed again and rolled his eyes heavenward. “What would you do without me?”

“Have to climb out on my own?” Harry guessed.

Draco shook his head, but he was smiling. He then lifted his wand and began to levitate Harry. When the Gryffindor was close enough, he held out a hand, and Draco took it easily, intending to guide him back over solid ground.

But then they heard a loud snarl, and Draco whipped around, startled by the pack of wolves growling back at him.

Harry began to fall, and instinctively reached out for Draco, who was turned away. Harry ended up yanking on the robe at his shoulders, and when his foot slipped against the rim of the hole, and he fell backwards, he pulled Draco down with him.

Draco managed to cast an impulsive shield charm before he felt himself falling, and as vertigo overtook him, he misjudged the width of the hole and knocked his hand against it. He watched in a detached, fascinated sort of horror as, as if in slowed motion, the wand was knocked from his hand. And then they were tumbling down, cursing and hissing as Draco’s sharp elbows and Harry’s knobbly knees clashed and clacked.

Pain erupted across his spine when he abruptly hit the bottom, and Draco moaned in distress, but not over the sound of Harry’s startled shout.

Ah. It seemed Draco had fallen on Harry.

Draco turned to his friend, and their eyes met instantly.

“You cushioned my fall,” Draco said. Because it had been intentional, surely. They’d been falling alongside one another, not above or below, but then they’d been tumbling, and Draco was on the bottom.

But Harry hit the ground before him. That meant someone had altered their positions at the last second, and it hadn’t been the blond.

“It’s my fault you fell at all,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

“But the wolves-”

“Attracted by all my screaming, no-doubt.”

Draco merely stared at him, not sure what to say.

“That was kind of you,” he said.

Harry laughed a bit. “You won’t be thinking that for long.”

Draco felt the hair on his neck stand. “My wand.”

“Yeah.”

“You fucking  _ didn’t _ .”

Harry winced. “I did,” he sighed, chagrinned. And then he was reaching beneath himself and pulling out another wand fragment. This one quite distinctly Draco’s.

Draco’s anger flared, and then fizzled out. He merely sighed.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“You’re lucky I consider you a friend.”

“I know.”

Draco shook his head, then shuffled off of said friend so they were squeezed beside each other.

“What now?” Harry asked.

“We wait,” Draco supposed. “Unless you’ve gotten any better at wandless magic?”

Harry glanced at him. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco sighed, laying his head back against the dirt wall of the hole. “As much as I’m blaming you, it isn’t actually entirely your fault, Harry. You fell. Shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” Harry repeated with a nod of his head. “The life of Harry Potter.”

“And Draco Malfoy.”

“Shit Happens; The Life of Harry Potter  _ and _ Draco Malfoy, or would they be separate books?” Harry asked.

“Separate books would allow us to go more in-depth on our pasts, on our home lives and such before we met.”

“But I like the thought of a book being dedicated to us meeting,” Harry said.

Draco laughed. “And then continuing on with us alongside one another? Sounds romantic.”

“Anything can sound romantic if you put the right spin on it,” Harry defended. “Well, not  _ everything _ , but most things.”

“Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Fell Down a Hole.” Draco snorted.

“Harry Potter Fell Down a Hole, and Draco Malfoy Fell After Him,” Harry corrected.

“They Fell Together,” Draco added.

“Down the hole?” Harry asked. “Must be a large one.”

“If it was a romance novel, in theory, they would be falling in love.”

Harry grinned. “What did I tell you? Anything can sound romantic.”

“Romance is such a nebulous concept,” Draco argued. “There doesn't necessarily have to be romance for there to be love, does there?”

“Like, love at first sight?” Harry asked.

“That's absolute rubbish,” Draco quipped. “You can't fall in love with someone at first sight, because that would be based purely on physical appearance. Such a thing may fuel your desires for the object of your attention, but can you really love someone when you don't know them? Or perhaps simple desire is love?” Draco frowned. “Perhaps love has different meanings.”

“Well, what do you consider love, and what do you consider romance, then?” Harry placed his chin in his palm, regarding Draco from behind his glasses in the dim lighting shining down from the opening above them.

“Love is... Love is wanting to protect someone,” Draco decided. “I love my family, my friends. I would sacrifice anything for them. Love is accepting someone fully, and entrusting yourself to them in response. But romance... Romance is long walks on the beach, I'd guess. Sharing breakfast. Spending afternoons together, doing absolutely nothing, but still wanting to spend more time together. To a degree, it's a lot like love, but you can love someone without entirely liking them. There's a difference between loving someone, and being  _ in  _ love with someone.”

Harry tilted his head. “How so?”

“I love my father,” Draco said. “I love Severus. I love morning tea. But there may be a little romance in how I love my friends, or my mother. Not sexually, obviously, but platonic romance. I would give anything to spend the afternoon with my friends, or my Mum, simply talking together. Or not even talking, simply beside each other, reading books or magazines. Because I love them, but it's more than  _ just  _ love. Does that make any sense?”

Harry stared at him. “It does,” he said, voice sounding a little odd.

Draco looked at Harry’s nose, noting it flushed darker than the rest of his face, even in the darkness.

“Are you crying?” Draco asked, voice quiet.

“That was touching,” Harry replied defensively, wiping at his eyes as though they had personally offended him.

Draco smiled at him, leaning over a bit to nudge Harry with his shoulder.

“I love you,” Draco said, and immediately shut his mouth. It sounded intimate, unintentionally so, but it was true, and that was just it, wasn't it? The truthfulness behind his declaration made him feel vulnerable.

“I'm someone you consider precious,” Harry said softly, as if connecting the meaning behind the two words, and Draco felt inexplicably more endangered. “But does precious mean love, or kind of romantic?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I will protect you,” Draco said.

“I know,” Harry said. “But aside from the war. Aside from feeling protective of me, would you... want to spend time with me? Reading together, or whatever.”

Draco looked at his hands, clasped lighting over his drawn knees. “Perhaps,” Draco mumbled, shrugging.

Harry leaned closer to him, resting his head on Draco’s tense shoulder.

“I would,” Harry said.

Draco’s shoulder relaxed.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Repeating the sentiment,” Draco decided, trying to explain the feelings he was experiencing. “Making it mutual. I felt oddly... on display, if that makes sense? I'm not  _ in  _ love with you, but I suppose I  _ do  _ love you. To a small degree. A tiny, tiny degree. Because I don't want you to die. Maybe I'm just clingy?”

Harry laughed, but it was hollow. “I don't think it's clingy not to want your loved ones to die. It's love. You love me.”

“I suppose I do. And you... love me, as well? A degree?”

“A small degree,” Harry replied sagely. “A tiny, tiny degree. I would rather prefer you don't die and leave me.”

Draco barked out a laugh. “ _ That _ sounded clingy. So it's alright if I die, as long as I don't leave  _ you _ ?”

“Aren't those the same things?” Harry asked, but his voice cracked a little towards the end, oddly enough.

“I could haunt you as a ghost,” Draco replied, and Harry shifted closer, pressing against him in the near pitch darkness.

“But then I couldn't touch you,” Harry said, sounding playfully dismayed as he pressed closer, but there was a tinge of real panic to his tone.

“Speaking of which,” Draco drawled, “what are you doing, exactly? Attempting to fuse bodies with me by brute force alone? I can assure you, Potter, that atoms do not work that way.”

“I'm a little claustrophobic,” Harry replied, voice sounding tight, and now Draco understood why.

“Does the dark make it worse?” Draco asked, impulsively lifting his arm to wrap around Harry’s shoulder.

“When I can’t touch the walls with my hands,” Harry panted, beginning to shake, “but I  _ know  _ they're there, I  _ know  _ it, I get a little... panicky. Like I need to touch them all at once, just so I know they're  _ actually  _ there. Because what if... what if they're not? What if I'm imagining it? It's all actually just a dream, and if the walls aren't there, I'm only dreaming, this isn't real. But then the walls are there, and this is reality, and I can't-”

Draco felt his own panic rising at Harry’s frantic babbling, at the way Harry pressed against him almost feverishly, as if hoping Draco would somehow anchor him to—to what? Reality? Prove this wasn't a dream?

But it almost sounded as though Harry hoped it  _ was _ a dream.

“Harry,” Draco addressed firmly, cutting off the babbling as it broke off into choked sobs. “Harry, listen to me. I'm right here. We fell in the hole, remember? You're not dreaming, you're fine. Harry, Harry stop, you're fine, don't do—you'll unearth the dirt if you keep— _ stop _ kicking, you'll bury us alive, you imbecile— _ Harry _ !” Draco snapped, grabbing one of his arms and  _ yanking.  _ He ignored Harry’s yelp, instead lifting his shirt and shoving the messy head of hair to his chest.

Harry began to struggle, against the shirt over his head, the arms holding him down.

“Harry, stop, listen. Listen to my heart beat, yeah? Remember, we did this before? Do you recognize it? That's my heart, Harry. I'm real, this is real, and you're fine. I promise you, we’ll get out of here. Remember the cells? I promised then, too, and I succeeded, didn't I? Trust me, Harry, we'll be fine, I promise we'll be fine. Just listen to my heart.”

Harry was panting harshly, still trembling, but he wasn't struggling anymore. He pressed his ear to Draco’s chest, cold fingers wrapping around Draco’s torso to hold him closer, and the blond shivered in response.

The cells. The cages. No wonder Potter could never sleep.

Harry was babbling again, but they were whispered, hysterical whispers. Draco could feel the hot breath against his ribs as Harry muttered to himself.

“This is real,” he whispered, over and over. “This is real, this is real, this is real.”

Draco was disconcerted, reasonably so, but decided he would discuss Harry’s apparent phobia with the other order members when they escaped. Not because he wanted to betray Harry in any way, of course, and if Harry demanded he didn't, Draco may very well not. But, so long as he wasn't dissuaded, Draco had every intention of telling someone. For Harry’s sake. For the War’s sake. Harry needed help.

Draco continued to shush him, petting Harry’s head and running his hands through Harry’s shaggy hair. It was softer than it looked, but not like Draco’s hair in texture, more like a crup’s. It was thick, and among the spiky black hair were a few curls which Draco found entirely too endearing.

Harry turned his head against Draco’s chest, and pressed a kiss to the expanse of pale skin above Draco's heart.

He didn't say anything about it, and neither did Draco.

Draco just kept petting him, and Harry continued to press chaste kisses against Draco’s stomach, chest, and pulling himself away from Draco’s shirt, he sat up, leaned forward, and tugged the material aside to kiss at Draco’s shoulders. The kisses traveled to Draco’s neck, and then his jaw, before Harry leaned back.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry rasped. “I just. Thank you.”

Draco looked at him. He wanted to kiss Harry, but refrained.

Harry leaned forward again, resting his forehead against Draco’s shoulder, and Draco returned his hand to running through Harry’s hair.

Harry took his free hand, and placed a little kiss to the palm, then another to the back of his hand, before gently releasing it.

Draco wanted to kiss him, but refrained once more.

They were discovered mere minutes later by a hysterical Granger and accusing Weasley, but after explanations and more than a few reprimands by Granger and amused cackles by Weasley, all after hearing about Harry’s apparent gift for snapping wands, they were back at Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same deal as last time guys~ Thanks for all the feedback! Someone particularly commented on enjoying my characterization, which is honestly really nice, since I feel like my personality distinctions have been shit in my recent works compared to my Pack Formation story (which had awesome characterization).


	3. Chapter 3

“Undercover,” Draco clarified. “You want me to go undercover.”

“It could very well give us the edge we need,” one member said, and Draco kind of wished he'd bothered to remember their names. “It would, of course, need to be in secret.”

“But Severus-”

“Will be discovered soon. His lies are strangling him, but you have a reason to return. Pretend you wanted to continue with your father, that you were merely rebelling after your mother.”

“My rebellion, despite any justification, will not go without punishment,” Draco replied distractedly, as he was considering the option. Would this truly benefit the Order? He rather thought it would. “And no one would know?”

“Besides us.”

“Us? The members in this room, or the entirely of the Order?” Draco asked.

“Just the few in this room, Mr. Malfoy. Others cannot be trusted to remain impartial to you.”

Which is why Harry hadn't been invited, or even alerted of Draco’s summoning to the designated meeting room.

“Can I think on it?” Draco asked. Rather, he already knew what he would do, but he refused to trust the members remaining in the room. None of them particularly liked him, and quite a few actively despised him. He would need to confide in someone before agreeing to their shoddy plan and being sent off.

“Time is of the essence, Mr. Malfoy-”

“I know,” Draco snapped, and then, calmer, “I understand. Just give me some time to collect myself. I'll be playing a role with my life on the line, after all.”

The members nodded. “You have been granted one day to collect your belongings and your thoughts.”

The older men were still muttering among themselves, but none stopped him when Draco calmly left the room. As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, he took off into a sprint. He ran up the stairs and turned into his shared bedroom, but Harry wasn't there.

And then Draco paused. Could he trust Harry to remain ‘impartial’? He could trust Harry to do anything for him, but pretend he hated Draco? Could Harry pretend betrayal?

Draco wasn't so sure.

So he looking around until he found who he was looking for.

“Weasley,” Draco addressed. He really would have preferred Granger, but he wasn't sure she was all that great of an actress anyway, and she had warmed up to him quite a bit in the months he'd been with them after the forest incident. Apparently, Harry still being alive by the time she found them at the bottom of that hole had been enough to convince her of his dedication to the cause. Or Harry. Either one.

Weasley didn't  _ despise _ him, but they definitely weren't close. He would have to do.

The redhead stared at him, obviously startled as he sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. “Malfoy?” he asked groggily. “What do you want at,” he looked at the clock beside his bed, “eight in the bloody morning?”

“I'm going to tell you a secret that you can't tell anyone else, understand? Not even Harry— _ especially  _ not Harry. It's of utmost importance you pretend you know nothing about it, and in fact despise me  _ because  _ you know nothing of it.”

Weasley blinked at him, eyes wide. “What? What's going on?”

“ _ Weasley _ ,” Draco stressed. “Your word. I'm on a time limit, and I normally wouldn't jeopardize a mission by telling you what I'm about to, but there's a chance I'll never get the chance to explain myself, and in that case, I'd be eternally grateful if you would pass on explanation of my wrongdoings.”

Weasley gulped. “You have my word, then.”

Draco nodded, slumping a bit in relief.

“Now, what is it?” Weasley inquired, looking genuinely concerned.

Draco’s expression was grave. “I'm going to see Voldemort, of course.”

* * *

And then he went to find Harry. Because Draco was selfish, and considering he very well may die on his mission, he was unwilling and unable to desert without first seeing Harry.

He found his friend in the garden. Harry was on his hands and knees weeding, it looked like, but it was hard to see anything passed his-

“What on earth are you  _ wearing _ ?” Draco asked, aghast. “It’s hideous.”

Harry looked up at him, and the hat cast a shadow over his bright eyes, making them seem to glow as he pinned Draco with a startled stare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his wrist, because his fingers were covered in soil, and beneath his fingernails were dark with the same dirt, but Draco couldn’t help but find him entirely too appealing with those smoldering eyes.

“Draco?” he asked, standing up and brushing off his knees in a vain attempt to dislodge the earth sticking to them. Why he used his just as soiled hands, Draco wasn’t sure.

“The one and only.”

“It’s a sunhat,” Harry addressed belatedly, referring to Draco’s initial question. He was distractedly looking over the garden, perhaps admiring his work. Though, knowing Harry, he was likely looking at all the work that still had to be done.

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Not hideous?”

“That too.”

“Well,” Harry said, gracing Draco with another glance, “it keeps the sun out of my face. Protecting me from sunburn, and all that.” And then he looked away again. Back to the garden. Back to the plants that would still be here tomorrow. But Draco wouldn’t.

“Nonsense,” Draco said. “You have your mother’s love to protect you.”

That caused Harry to look at him, and the disbelief over his face made Draco cackle.

“I can’t believe you,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Who’s the ridiculous one?”

“That hat,” Draco assured, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe between the house and the garden.

“But, see, I’m not the one beginning to resemble a lobster,” Harry intoned dubiously.

Draco looked at him, confused, before regarding his own shoulders. His shoulders that were previously as pale as snow itself. His shoulders which were currently doing a rather impressive impression of a rather apoplectic tomato.

Draco scowled, hunching said shoulders as if to protect them from the sun, and Harry smirked at him.

“Would you like to borrow my sunhat?” he asked ever-so-sweetly. “It’s easily wide enough to protect your delicate shoulders.”

“Nothing about me is delicate,  _ Potter _ , and it would be wise of you to remember that. Besides, that hat is wide enough to swallow me  _ whole _ . I’d much rather simply head back inside.”

“Where you can lick your wounds?” Harry asked cheekily as he turned back to his weeding. The moment before he bent his knees, where his arse was very much sticking up in the air, granted Draco with a rather nice view.

“Where I can apply the appropriate salve, yes,” Draco replied distractedly. Merlin, why was he suffering through this? He ought to just turn around and leave. Leave Harry to his sodding gardening while Draco up and returned to the Manor to meet what would surely be his untimely death.

But he wouldn’t.

“You can,” Harry agreed, “but I’ll stay out here.”

Draco stared at him.

Harry continued weeding, humming a little, before he peeked over his shoulder and jumped a bit. “You’re still out here? Merlin, Draco, go inside before you bake.”

Draco stared some more. And then, with a sigh, knew he wouldn’t.

“No,” he grumbled, walking over to Harry’s kneeling position and kneeling next to him. “I’ll stay. What do you need me to do?”

Harry gaped at him. “Who died?”

Draco scoffed, and would have smirked as well, but sweat was pouring into his eyes from the mere act of walking over and into direct sunlight, so he refrained. He needed to save his energy if he didn’t want to up and pass out after five minutes. That would  _ definitely _ impress Harry.

“Sod off, you tit. Do you want my help or not?”

Harry worried his lip between his teeth indecisively, and Draco stared at the abused skin before forcing his eyes to snap back up and meet Harry’s. Harry frowned at him a bit, though whether it was from Draco’s wandering eyes or that he had simply come to a decision, Draco was unsure.

“Shouldn’t you cast a protective charm against your skin, at least?”

“With my snapped wand?” Draco drawled, reaching up with a hand to wipe the sweat-saturated strands from his face. Lots of sun made his silvery hair more golden than platinum, which Draco admittedly enjoyed for the few days it lasted. “I can easily heal myself this evening when the newly ordered ones come in. Now, do you want my help, or not? We both know you don’t need it, but I’ll keep you company anyway, yeah?”

Harry frowned further, but nodded. “Alright, but I don’t need you right by me all afternoon. Can you weed over in the strawberry patch? It should be easy enough for you to tell the difference between strawberries and weeds, at least.”

Draco blew him a raspberry as he stood up. “I’ll have you know,  _ Potter _ , I’m very well versed in the varying varieties of flora and differentiating between them. I’m an aspiring Potions Master, after all. You needn’t treat me like a First Year, but since I happen to very much enjoy strawberries, I’ll humor you.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s honestly too hot for me to decipher your cryptic way of speaking, Draco, so I’ll just take that as a yes.”

Draco did gather up the energy to smirk, this time. “Affirmative.”

“But don’t eat the strawberries,” Harry called after him as Draco began making his way to the other side of the garden. “I’m thinking of using them in a jam!”

That Draco wouldn’t be around to enjoy, of course.

With that thought in mind, Draco had every intention to devour more than a few strawberries, but wouldn’t tell Harry this, of course.

And so the day burned on as Draco weeded, ate, weeded some more, rested and ate, weeded a little more, and ate some more as well. They were so bloody good, and he trusted his wandless  _ scourgify  _ enough to enjoy them without the tiny fear of swallowing unwanted bugs or germs.

It was pure luck that Draco noticed Harry’s ridiculous sunhat approaching just before he cast his  _ scourgify _ . Panicking and knowing he had to act quickly, Draco aborted the spell attempt and simply plopped the berry in his mouth. Just in time, as well, as Harry peered at him just as Draco’s lips had closed around the fruit.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, but Draco took no displeasure in this as Harry’s bright eyes were well worth it, and the way his sweaty hair curled at his forehead and nape were distracting enough.

“Your poker face needs work,” Harry decided.

Draco, grinning like the kneazle who got the cream, dropped all pretenses in favor of swallowing the strawberry with as much relish as he could muster.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you about eating my berries?”

“Well,” Draco smirked, “Strawberries aren't technically berries, in the botanical sense. Though they’re derived from a single flower, said flower has more than one ovary, making them an aggregate fruit. Bananas, however, stem from one flower with a  _ single  _ ovary, making  _ them _ , technically, true berries.”

Harry squinted at him. “What do you do with all the useless information in your head?”

“Use it to manipulate and impress, of course.”

Harry, shaking his head, held out a dirty hand, which Draco took easily. Harry pulled him up, and then they were headed back inside.

“How was my weeding?” Draco asked smugly.

“I fear you may have removed more berries—excuse me,  _ aggregate fruits _ than weeds, but all in all, you did an alright job.”

Draco smirked. “Oh  _ Harry,  _ sure know how to make a man swoon.”

Harry looked around. “What man?”

Draco shoved him in the arm. “I’m sorry, am I not eighteen? Should I have said youth? Young adult?  _ Teenager _ ? I do know how you hate that one.”

Harry made a face as he opened the door. “I do hate that. We’ve seen too much shit to be limited to  _ teens _ .” And, being the gentlemen he was, he held it open for Draco as well. 

Draco nearly fainted when the cool inside air hit his feverish skin. “Have mercy on my tender soul,” Draco wheezed as he—gingerly—fell to the chilled, marble floor, and laid his ruddy body against it.

“I thought nothing about you was delicate,” Harry said as he sat down next to him.

“Tender, Potter, not delicate. I’m not a doll.”

“You’re too sunburned and peeling to be a doll right now, anyway.”

“I’ll have you know, people would flock to me even if I  _ was  _ a sunburned, peeling doll. Because I’m bloody gorgeous, either way.”

“Naturally,” Harry agreed sarcastically, warranting him a little kick from Draco’s tired legs. “I am a little amazed, though. We were only out for a couple hours, and the sun wasn’t even that hot.”

“Malfoys don’t tan, we perish and burn,” Draco explained gravely. “Which is a shame. I’m sure I would be quite the attraction, with tan skin and my pale eyes and hair. But, alas, I can’t be  _ too  _ attractive. There are certain laws to the universe, you see.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Harry snorted. “And I like your pale skin. It’s easy to tell when you’re angry, because your veins  _ really  _ pop.”

“And it’s easy to tell when  _ you’re  _ angry, because you don’t have a deceiving bone in your body,” Draco replied, a tad snootily.

“Oh, and you’re so deceiving?” Harry asked, smiling amusedly.

Draco sat up, knowing  _ this  _ was the time, and pinned Harry with a serious, if not somewhat unreadable, stare. “I am.”

“Draco, I know you,” Harry said, smile easy going.

“You’ve known me for but a couple months,” Draco said, lip twitching irritatedly. “Don’t be so sure.”

“I’ve known you since First Year, actually, and after getting to know you personally now, I feel like I know even  _ that _ Draco a little better.”

“Be very careful when addressing what you know based on what  _ I’ve _ told you, and what you know based on what you’ve seen, yourself.” Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be surprised how much can be interpreted differently without me there to explain away all the  _ whats _ and  _ whys _ .”

Harry frowned at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

Draco stood, dusting off his clothing disinterestedly. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“No,” Harry said, frowning harder, “you can’t just say something like  _ that  _ and then pretend it was nothing.”

Draco felt anxiety and excitement course beneath his skin, building inside of him and making it easy to ignore the stretching of his sunburned body in favor of appearing composed, enigmatic, and malicious.

And he played it well, judging by Harry’s once so sure, so trusting stance turned hesitant.

And when Draco saw Ron approaching the breezeway, Draco knew  _ now was the time _ .

“I’m just saying.” Draco shrugged, and his smile was a mixture of arrogant and vicious. His voice was loud, confident, and definitely caught Weasley’s attention as the redhead approached faster. “You tend to imagine the best of people. You sort of... fill in the blanks with what you  _ assume  _ must have happened, or what one was thinking or feeling.”

“ _ What _ ?” Harry hissed. “I don’t  _ assume _ -”

“Harry, mate,” Weasley murmured as he entered the room. He reached for Harry, and Harry pulled away, but Ron, firmer, reached out and took his arm. “Harry. He’s just playing his little mind games.”

“I get bored,” Draco agreed, twirling where he stood. All the while, Draco kept that same, stale, malicious smile on his face, but his eyes, dancing with forced mirth, wandered. Because he knew he would break if he looked into Harry’s eyes and the anger and confusion was replaced with something worse. Like hurt.

Or, even now, trust.

“He doesn’t do that,” Draco could hear Harry whispering to Weasley.

“Of course he does, he does it all the time-”

“Not with  _ me _ ,” Harry insisted, and his voice didn’t waver, and that made Draco want to crack.

Because Harry didn’t doubt him, not yet, and if Harry got his way and got the answers he so desired, not ever.

“Weasley’s right,” Draco teased, forcing himself to keep up the facade, because if anything, he needed to use this as fuel for his cause, for his mission. To protect the people he loved. “I’m just teasing,” he assured, laughing easily, and Harry looked a little hurt indeed.

“That’s not funny,” Harry said, looking annoyed now.

“I’ve never been very funny,” Draco said, uncaring. “You just used to know how to take a joke.”

“Well don’t joke about that sort of thing.”

“Well don’t make me weed for hours and get sunburned.”

Harry scowled. “This is all about your sodding skin? I  _ offered  _ you my sunhat.”

“Which I wouldn’t bloody  _ need  _ if you hadn’t snapped my wand, remember?”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if you were a competent wizard who doesn’t get spooked and  _ drop  _ the other wizard they’re trying to save-”

“Said wizard who had, say, been ‘incompetent’ enough to fall in the hole in the first place?” Draco sneered. “Why do I always seem to be cleaning up your messes,  _ Potter _ ? Honestly.  _ What  _ would you do without me?”

“Be a lot less  _ miserable  _ all the bloody time-”

“And I’d be a lot less scarred,” Draco quipped, and his smile was cold, and cutting, and he knew he’d struck deep when Harry flinched back. 

Weasley looked disgusted with him, and Draco wasn’t sure if he knew Draco was only acting, only  _ trying  _ to break things off before he deserted. He hoped Weasley wasn’t fooled by his act. 

After Harry was given time and space to think over their ridiculous argument, he surely wouldn’t be fooled by Draco’s seemingly random anger. But right now, his wounds were too tender to be overlooked—Rather, Harry wasn’t as accustomed as Draco was with cutting words, so he wouldn’t be able to step back and regard their argument effectively until time and separation had passed. And in that time, Draco would have retrieved his new wand, and been sent off on his mission.

Which was for the best.

“Draco,” Harry called softly, sounding so  _ hurt _ , but Draco steeled his heart.

“I need some space,” Draco declared, sneering as he shoved passed them and stalked off.

The further he walked, the more the previous adrenaline-like haze faded. Because now, more than ever was the pain potent.

Not the pain from his ‘sodding skin’, but the pain from his aching heart.

But for a little longer, Draco straightened his back and raised his chin.

He had to go meet up with the other Order members to retrieve his wand.

Heal his skin, because his other wound would likely never heal.

And leave.

* * *

“Young Malfoy,” Voldemort addressed, and his smile was slow and syrupy. “And to what do we all owe the pleasure?”

The Death Eaters cackled behind him.

Lucius merely watched him.

“I was in a position which afforded me not only Harry Potter’s trust, but also information about the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s army. I thought it a wise decision to continue my deceitful actions towards them in order to better our side.”

“‘Our side’?” Voldemort echoed, and his voice was amused, but his eyes were intent, predatory.

“Of course,” Draco assured, brandishing his Dark mark. More for the theatrics, than anything, and Voldemort definitely liked those.

There was silence for a long, long while, and then Voldemort smiled.

“Welcome back, Young Malfoy. Please,” he addressed, gesturing towards himself, his throne. “Come,” he beckoned, “and tell us of what you’ve learned.”

* * *

“Got it?” Draco asked quickly.

“I think,” Weasley replied.

“Just have them look at your memories, if anything.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Now I truly see the value of Granger.”

“Oi,” Weasley hissed, “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Draco conceded. “Harry and Hermione wouldn’t put up with you if you were.”

Weasley looked taken aback. “I. Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Draco snorted. “Brilliant. Please do remember to make a speech at my funeral.”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy.”

“Too dark?” Draco asked, grimacing.

“Too dark, and too soon,” Weasley agreed gravely. “I don’t like you, but what you’re doing is... It’s brave. And I never thought I’d relate that word to you, but. Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Draco agreed, smiling a little. “You’re not so bad yourself, Weasley.” And then, he hesitated before, “How’s Harry?”

Ron smiled a little. “I don’t know why you keep asking. I’m just going to  _ obliviate  _ you after.”

“Even if I don’t remember, it comforts my soul,” Draco assured, and Weasley snorted.

“Sure it does, Malfoy. But, he’s safe. Healthy. He’s hurt and confused, of course, but he trusts you. He thinks someone was controlling you, or something. Won’t stop muttering to Hermione and me about sneaking out to ‘rescue’ you, anyway.”

Draco smiled, and then winced. “And you’re successfully dissuading him, I hope? It simply won’t do to have him blowing my cover.”

“I’m doing alright so far,” Weasley said, “but I think he’s beginning to convince Hermione, and once he has her on board, there’ll be no stopping him.”

Draco sighed. “Fend him off for as long as possible. The Battle can’t be too far off now, and we need him to be focused.”

“He won’t stop talking about you,” Ron said, and it wasn’t accusatory or angry, just sad. “I think he’s hurting more than he’s letting on. I don’t think your little fight before you left was enough.”

“I don’t think anything aside from outright attacking him with a garden trowel would have been enough, but it will have to do,” Draco muttered. “Now. The  _ obliviation _ , please? And make sure I’m unconscious before you make me touch the portkey. Last time I was wandering my room in confusion for nearly three hours before I put two and two together, and at that point, what’s the point of  _ obliviating  _ me? Even if I don’t remember exactly what was said, it’s not as though Death Eaters ask my consent before invading my mind. I can’t have any inkling of our little meetings until I gather new information and then, on my own, decide to meet up with you.”

“How do you keep meeting up with me in the same meeting spot, by the way?” Weasley asked, honestly curious.

“I create new apparition coordinates in my mind at the beginning of every new year,” Draco explained, “for situations just like this. My father was rather paranoid, you see. I also create a new code word every year, just in case any of my future selves deem it fit to break the law and come back in time to visit me. Just to make sure it’s really me, from the future.”

Weasley gaped at him. “That’s... kind of insane.”

“I like to be prepared,” Draco said. “I’ve always a plan, you see.”

Weasley quirked his lips up in a half-smile. “So Harry has told me.” And then he lifted his wand. “ _ Obliviate! _ ”

* * *

“Draco!”

Draco snapped up in bed, clutching his blanket to his chest.

Harry lowered his wand slowly, but the scowl was new. “Stop covering your nonexistent breasts, you ponce. Get up, we’re getting you out of here.”

“Shite,” Draco hissed to himself, but did drop the sheets, showing off his green pajamas. “Harry, dammit, get out of here! Don’t you know I’m-”

“Undercover? Of course. The Order told me when I threatened to break you out of the Manor.”

“And yet you came to do so anyway?” Draco asked, voice faint with incredulity.

“Nope, I brought the Order,” Harry said calmly. So calmly, in fact, Draco almost didn’t overreact.

Almost.

“ _ What  _ the fresh fuck do you  _ mean _ , you brought the Order?” Draco hissed.

“We’re attacking. Now.  _ Right _ now, in fact. I actually have to kind of go, but I wanted to be the first one to get you so I could do this.”

And Harry walked over and punched him in the face.

Draco sputtered, and cradled his swelling cheek, but didn’t argue. 

That was a lie. Of course he did.

“You  _ pillock _ ,” Draco sneered. “How intimidating am I going to be, going  _ in  _ to battle with wounds already?”

“Oh, you’re not fighting,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s arm and yanking him out of bed. “You’re going to Hogwarts where you’re going to brew with Snape. You know. Ammunition for the Battle, and all that.”

Draco tried to skid to a halt, but his socks slid easily on the Manor’s marbled floors.

“What? How did you even find me-”

“Your father,” Harry said, not bothering to look back at Draco as he continued to drag the blond down covert hallways, ducking in and out of abandoned rooms as he lead Draco to some unknown destination.

“My father told you where I was?” Draco asked, shocked.

“I think he knew I was coming to rescue you,” Harry assured. “He loves you.”

“I...” Draco didn’t know how to respond to that, so he shook his head in an attempt to rearrange his thoughts. “I don’t need  _ rescuing _ , Potter. I’m more than capable to taking care of myself.”

“I know,” Harry assured, still not bothering to look at him, “but what you said to me, before you left? About always coming to my rescue, and all that?”

He turned to look at Draco.

“Yeah, well. I want to return the favor.”

Draco couldn’t help smiling a little. “That’s nice and all, but you don’t need to smuggle me all the way to Hogwarts just so I can brew explosives and poisons, or whatever. I can fight alongside you-”

“Nope, everything’s already been decided,” Harry said, turning back around to continue pulling, which was annoying to an  _ ungodly  _ degree.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Draco sneered.

“I know,” Harry replied, squeezing Draco’s hand reassuringly, “but the Order still doesn’t completely trust you, but Snape and I managed to pull their heads from their arses, somewhat. So you need to help him-”

“I don’t  _ need  _ to do bloody  _ anything _ ,” Draco growled. “I don’t care about the Order, I care about you. And Snape. And my father. If I want to stay here to  _ assure  _ your safety, I sure as hell will.”

Harry stopped tugging,  _ finally _ , and turned to look at Draco with an unreadable expression before he tugged him closer.

“What if I ask nicely?” he asked.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You can’t change my mind, Potter.”

Harry tugged him closer. “What if I ask  _ really _ nicely, and promise I’ll escape with my life and your father.”

Draco frowned. “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

Harry tugged him closer, and leaned in, making Draco stiffen.

“Please go help Snape,” Harry asked, whispering against Draco’s lips as his arms trailed around Draco’s body, holding him closer. “I know you want to be here, and I could use you here, of course, but I don’t  _ need  _ you here. I’m confident enough in myself, and in my team. But I know that Snape  _ definitely  _ needs you, because it seems most of us are incompetent brewers.”

Draco frowned, and huffed, but knew it was true.

“Well,” Draco mumbled, relishing in their feel of their mouths brushing, “since you asked so nicely, I  _ suppose  _ I could spare some of my skill.”

Draco felt more than saw Harry smile, and then Harry kissed him, and it was chaste, but firm, and he crushed Draco against him as though he needed it, and when Draco felt his knees weaken he decided brewing would be a relief.

When Harry pulled back, Draco felt more than a little dazed, and he flushed a bit at Harry’s cocky grin.

“You look dazed,” he teased.

“After you attempted to crush every bone in my body? Forgive me for feeling a little off-kilter. And the kiss was okay, as well.”

“‘Okay’,” Harry repeated, rolling his eyes, but he was still smiling. “And I missed you. An entire month without you? Forgive me for feeling a little clingy.”

“I don’t absolutely abhor it,” Draco admitted, and when Hatry looked as though he wanted to kiss him again, Draco pulled himself together.

“Snape,” he reminded, and Harry nodded.

“There’s a portkey down the hall. It’s an orange vase-”

“Bloody hell.  _ Orange? _ You couldn’t have chosen a color that would be  _ inconspicuous _ ?”

“It’s in an inconspicuous hallway,” Harry assured. “Continue on that way, as though you’re going to see your mother’s portrait. You’ll see it on the way. I have to go, but Draco, I promise we’ll be fine-”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Draco whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, but it was quick before he leaned away and stepped towards the opposite hallway. “Promise you’ll do everything in your power to come back to me. Keep your word, and that’s all that matters.”

Harry nodded. “I promise.”

* * *

Draco was nervous.

He brewed. And he brewed. And he brewed some more.

But still, he fretted.

He imagined Harry falling, more than anyone. Of his crow, descending towards the earth with a squawk of sheer terror, like that time in the cellar. Only this time, Draco wouldn’t be there to save him. To sacrifice himself for him, should things comes to that. Like his mother, though silent, who had fallen and marred herself with red. With blood. With strawberries. 

More and more, Draco fret.

So much so, in fact, that Severus finally broke their air professionalism to smack Draco with a recipe book.

“Holy fuck— _ Ow _ ,” the blond scowled, rubbing at his head. “Do you bloody  _ mind _ ?”

“Stop hovering like a lovesick fool,” Severus demanded. “It’s pitiful.”

“Oh, and you’ve never loved and lost?” Draco sniped.

Snape sent him a look, one that would have chilled a lesser man to the bone, but thankfully didn’t comment further.

And Draco continued brewing, but stopped pacing back and forth around the lab. 

* * *

It was two in the bloody morning.

“Honey,” someone called, “I’m home!”

Severus and Draco shared a look, and then the Golden trio stumbled through the door, bloodied and battered, but alive, and then came in Lucius, and some others, and the Weasleys showed up, and the Longbottoms, and Draco saw Pansy-

“Pans!” Draco sobbed, and she spotted him, and without prompt, her eyes filled with tears, and she flew to him.

“Well, don’t I feel loved,” Blaise muttered as he walked in behind her.

“Blaise!” Draco wailed some more, forcing the three of them into a hug, and he easily babbled over their loud complaints of broken bones and sore joints and  _ don’t hug me so bloody hard _ .

“I didn’t think I’d see you guys again,” Draco whispered.

“Potter told us,” Blaise said, shrugging. “He invited us along to see you.”

“I can’t believe you switched sides!” Pansy gasped into Draco’s chest, where she clutched his robes. “The second I heard, I made Blaise and Greg and Vince and most of the Slytherin secretly joined the Resistance in secret. We’re here and alive right now because of you.”

Draco managed to blink through his tears. “What? I only—I only switched because of Mother. It was all you, Pansy, who told the others, if what you say is true.”

“She was rather adamant about it,” Blaise assured with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

“Know what else I was adamant about?” Pansy grinned darkly. “Watching Vol- Him fall. Know what else? Someone shot a spell that broke his legs.”

Draco gaped. “You didn’t.”

“I bloody well did,” Pansy snarled. “And it was brilliant, watching him crumple to the ground in the midst of battle. I’ve never felt so accomplished in my life.”

“It was rather brilliant,” someone else agreed, and Draco turned around to see Lucius.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Pansy gasped, and then blushed. “Thank you.”

“Father,” Draco addressed cautiously.

Lucius looked down at him, and then smiled. And it was small, but warm, and Draco felt like crying again.

“Dad,” Draco murmured, reaching out.

“Draco,” Lucius replied, and stepped forward, hugging Draco fiercely.

He did cry, then, and Blaise laughed at him for crying so much, and Pansy, bless her soul, elbowed Blaise.

And then Mrs. Weasley walked up to him, and Draco prepared to be screamed at, maybe hit, but she smiled at him through her moist eyes and hugged him fiercely as well.

“Mum,” Ron had hissed, looking mortifyingly embarrassed, which made Draco laugh wetly through his own tears.

And then Draco had eventually suckered a hug out of Severus, who made sure to sneer in disdain the whole time.

And then Granger hugged him, and Weasley awkwardly slug and arm around him.

And then it was Harry’s filthy face grinning back at him, and Draco flew at him, and they hugged, and laughed, and cried, and kissed, and lived.

**The end.**

* * *

**Epilogue.**

“Harry, dear, you’re so thin!”

Draco ceased in buttering his toast to groan, “Merlin, Mother.”

“Draco, you have to feed him better,” Narcissa scolded him.

“Surely Potter’s old enough to feed himself, darling,” Lucius intoned from behind his newspaper as he sipped at his tea.

“You’re still children,” Narcissa argued.

“ _ Mum _ ,” Draco groaned.

“We’re nineteen, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry assured, but he was flushed with pleasure. He absolutely  _ loved  _ Narcissa babying him, Draco knew, and it drove Draco round the bend watching his mother dote on the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World as if he couldn’t feed himself.

But she was like the mother Harry never had, so Draco took it all in with a sigh and a sip of tea, like his Father.

“Oh,” Narcissa said, eyes widening as she placed a dainty hand over her mouth. “Oh, that’s right. You two are adults, I always forget. You’ll always be my sweet children in my eyes, of course, but I am aware you two do...  _ adult  _ things, when not in the presence of us two elderly-”

Harry choked on his toast.

“ _ No, Mum, oh Salazar, no,”  _ Draco plead quietly into his tea.

“Elderly?” Lucius asked, affronted.

“Oh, don’t be ashamed of your adulthood, my dragon,” Narcissa cooed sweetly to her horrified son. “You boys are definitely at that age. Molly told me she caught young Ronald doing something similar with the young Miss Hermione.”

“Oh God, no,” Harry wheezed.

“Really now?” Draco asked, suddenly interested. “Weasley’s got game, it seems. I never pictured Granger as someone so eager to roll on her back. Unless she took charge?” Draco wondered aloud to himself.

Harry choked again. “Is  _ that  _ what that means? Bloody hell.”

“You’re not usually one to be outdone, Draco,” Lucius commented, sending Draco a raised eyebrow over his newspaper.

Draco smirked.

“Oh my god,” Harry wheezed some more, and Draco just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That right there, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, was 56 pages of Drarry.  
> You're welcome.
> 
> Those of you who read my other fic, Pack Formation, got the, "Pansy, bless her soul, elbowed him," reference, lol
> 
> For those of you who felt this last part (the ending) seemed a little rushed, well, it was. Half way through this fic, I just lost inspiration? Like, I wanted to keep typing, but I couldn't think of anything particularly interesting to write, other than just bringing the damn thing to a close, and I hate writing battle scenes (due to lack of interest in reading them myself, and therefor lack of any talent for writing them, haha), so I just sort of... tried to finish it real quick, lol.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I originally typed this all in one go (meaning I had all 56 pages done before posting the first part), but was tempted to make this a multi-chaptered fic like my Lunch Date one, since it got so many reviews (aka, I got more in return for my work), but all the parts are different lengths, and some parts aren't interesting whatsoever, so I decided I would post this in three parts, max.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has 3 parts! I plan to post the second part next week, but everything's all typed out, so I mean?? The more reviews, the faster I'll update.  
> GASP! Me? Open to bribery? Sound the alarms.


End file.
